Mortal Meddling
by sakuramae
Summary: Lionesses don't have ample time to relax, especially not when you're the Chosen of the Goddess. Alanna and her friends are again embroiled in a game devised by the gods. Question is, what are they really in the Divine Realms for? Post-SotL, pre-Immortals.
1. Competition

**Disclaimer --- **While I do wish that I had a hand in writing up the Tortallan universe, we all know that the ever-fabulous Tamora Pierce was its sole creator. So yeah, I don't own these characters. At all.

**Note --- **Also, this story pretty much follows a year after _The Gate of Idramm_, so there might be a few mentions of that event strewn into the plot.

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**Chapter 1  
Competition**

Like the impatient feline she was coined after, the coppery redhead paced back and forth, growling. The flames were about to go out in the fireplace, and she gave a small wave to increase their warmth. Outside, the wind sent an icy drift into the room through the open window. She'd have closed it by now, but she periodically looked out into the storm for a glimpse of the rider she'd awaited all night.

_He's late._

When Alanna arrived yesterday morning, she had been apprehensive of the darkening sky. She didn't have to be a weather-witch to have detected the oncoming storm. Yet for all the tell-tale signs of a natural pattern, her Gift tingled, which gave her reason to suspect that the storm had someone's powers involved. What's more, the lady knight had been expecting her newly-wed husband back. They'd both promised to get back to celebrate a year of marriage, after all.

The wind howled once more, breaking her concentration, and the fire completely died out as she jumped from the violent rattling of the windows. "For the love of—!"

Frustrated, purple flames erupted from her fingertips and went to the windows, tightly sealing them against the battering wind.

The Lioness sneezed three times in a row.

She wasn't waiting any longer. Grabbing her cloak and using her Gift to warm herself, Alanna rushed down the hall. With a quick word to Maude, she took to the weather.

The air around her whistled with unknown power. Alanna's eyes watered and she braced herself for the sneezes that would follow suit. Lifting her necklace out of her shirt and touching the stone at its end, she could detect traces of silver magic flowing in the wind.

This alarmed her. The last time she'd seen heaps of silver magic was in Carthak…

"Alanna!" yelled a hoarse voice behind her. When she'd turned around, the man had already dismounted from his horse and rushed to her side, lifting her up with glee. "What are you doing outside?"

"There's something wrong, George," she was truly glad to see him, but the weather had taken its turn for the worse, and she could not let it alone. "Someone's doing this to the wind!"

The baron of Pirate's Swoop frowned, his hazel eyes turning a darker shade of green than when he first laid eyes on his wife that night. "You mean the storm? Well, let's get ourselves out of it for one thing. I do have some kind of news about this."

_Is it wise to involve her, Chosen?_

_Not now, Kyprioth_, he replied, knowing the Trickster God's eyes were watching him from above. _She's clearly disturbed by all the magic you lot are cookin' up!_

_For good reason!_

Warm again, Alanna plopped on the nearest chair. "I'm sorry, George, I would have _tried _to clear the weather up for you, but I have this feeling it'd take more than just my Gift to do that with the aura I'm detecting."

George gave her a grim smile and sat across her. "I had a feelin' you wouldn't pass the opportunity by and knew you'd notice soon enough."

"Why? Do you know what's going on?" the lady knight was surprised. Besides the Sight, George Cooper possessed no other signs of the Gift to be able to truly detect anything. "With your Sight?"

He shook his head. "Err, I've just been to Arram's. Sorry, Numair's."

"This isn't an experiment of his, is it?" she was cross. The rare few days she could spend with her new spouse, and one of it is already horrid weather!

"No, though I wish it was just that," he'd ruffled his hair and sighed. "Truth be told, it's got somethin' to do with the folks above. I know you've only just dealt with them, what with Carthak and all."

_Oh, not again_. Alanna groaned. At least this time, she wasn't having any visions. "Why in Pirate's Swoop of all places?"

"It's not just the Swoop, Alanna," and this time, she could detect worry in his voice. "Before seeing Numair, I'd been to Corus. Their weather is just as horrible and unnatural. Listen, Numair is comin' down to see you. I think he's better off explainin'."

_Having second thoughts?_

_I would rather not reveal your hand in this. And remember, she knows nothing of my patron god._

George heard the Trickster God's chuckle. _Am I that shameful a god for you to conceal me so?_

The former Rogue cringed slightly. After he'd turned respectable? And his wife the Chosen mortal representing the Great Mother Goddess? Mentioning that he occasionally did the Trickster's duties would be a bit off-putting to say the least. No, he was better off keeping Kyprioth from Alanna.

There was a knock at the door and a tall, lanky figure in a black cloak sauntered in, tired. "Ah, Alanna! George, hello again. I apologize for not riding with you, I had to see things at the tower before leaving the housekeeping to Francesca—very pretty, but a little on the ignorant side. You haven't told her yet, have you?"

He eyed the baron, who silently shook his head. Alanna watched this exchange and raised her eyebrow. "Well, are either of you planning to tell me? Before my patience runs out, please, the storm alone already irritates me."

Numair Salmalin—formerly Arram Draper—grinned. "Well, my dear, some very distressing news for you, if you'd like. It seems the gods are concocting another one of those 'meddling in the affairs of mortals' plots. I'm no Seer, and I'm surprised the Great Mother has not warned you beforehand, but, well…with certain sources…"

"Thom," Alanna spoke matter-of-factly, guessing the truth. "When were you going to tell me you still speak to my dead brother?"

"Demi-god of a brother," Numair corrected. "And he really would love to chat with you sometime, but unfortunately, he's gotten limited to one sorcerer for now, and we both know his time is better spent helping me with my studies."

The lady knight rolled her eyes. The room's occupants looked quickly to the direction of the balcony window, which was now shaking with tremendous force. With an angered flick, Alanna's purple Gift covered the balcony and ceased the window's trembling. "Better. You were saying?"

"Well, as it were, the gods are doing some sort of contest," there was a slight pause before Numair continued. "There seems to have been an argument between Shakith and Mynoss about which of their Chosen is the more superior. And before they knew it, it became an argument between multiple gods."

Before, Alanna had been glaring. Now, she was stunned. "Wait…are they allowed to do that?"

"It seems so," George replied, now feigning interest in Alanna's shield magic. He did not want to tell her that her Goddess had also taken part in the banter.

_Aren't you glad I actually didn't enter you now, Chosen?_

The baron grimaced. _Knowing you, Trickster, there's a wager in it. Why join in the fun when you can reap the benefits helping others win for your sport?_

George knew he was right when he got a chuckle in reply. He hadn't been listening to the rest of the conversation, but he clearly heard Alanna's intake of breath and screams of "WHAT?!"

"Didn't they have their fun _last_ year?!" the lady knight cried out. "Goddess, what on earth…?"

Numair looked up at George. "This is why I asked you to ease her nerves a bit before I got here."

"I don't think anythin' could placate her after what you've just said, mind," George replied.

"So what happens next?" Alanna asked, exasperated. Clearly she couldn't do a thing when the gods themselves are making the trouble. "Do we just sit and wait? Or perhaps even yell at the gods for being so thickheaded and selfish?"

The sorcerer shrugged. "The storm will end soon. I believe it's just their cover for what they're really doing."

"What do you—"

The Lioness' sentence was never finished. The windows had opened with a loud crash, unsealing Alanna's Gift and shaking the Swoop. The lady knight grabbed onto George, who'd stumbled from the quake. Once the shaking stopped, all three hurried to the balcony.

"What in the mortal realms…?"

"I'm afraid, Alanna, that we aren't in the mortal realms any longer," Numair told her calmly.

She wished, not for the first time, that Numair Salmalin wasn't right.


	2. Changes

**Disclaimer --- **While I do wish that I had a hand in writing up the Tortallan universe, we all know that the ever-fabulous Tamora Pierce was its sole creator. So yeah, I don't own these characters. At all.

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**Chapter 2  
Changes**

There was no end to the amethyst glare that Alanna was now giving to the two men with her. "I don't suppose they could just take the time to explain what we're all supposed to be doing here."

"I suppose not," Numair scratched his head and looked out again, whistling. "Well, this is quite grand, if I do say so myself."

"Unbelievable! You don't seem to be phased by all this?!"

Numair's eyes narrowed. "It's not really my place to question the gods, Lioness. Remember, I've only just escaped captivity by someone who thinks of himself as a god. Questioning the real ones would no doubt be worse."

"I am just wondering," George interjected, snapping Alanna out of her rage. "Why are all of us here? I mean, I don't mind bein' able to keep an eye on my wife, but if this is a competition between the Chosen of certain gods…"

"I don't suppose I would know that. Truthfully, you and I shouldn't be here, George," Numair replied.

"The Lioness needs friends to help her, no?" a figure materialized beside Numair. "Besides, as wonderfully skilled as any of the gods' Chosen are, they're going to need a lot of help up here."

"Thom!"

The demi-god bowed. His purple eyes twinkled with laughter. "Funny seeing you here, sis. I was hoping I wouldn't get to until, oh…your mortal life _actually _ended."

"Funny," even with the slight agitation she felt from being yanked out of the mortal world, she still had to smile after seeing her twin. "You're doing well, at least."

"Well enough," he hugged her and turned to the men near her sister. "Now, George, I've got to speak to you in a moment. _Privately_. And Arram, I believe the rules have now changed since I last spoke to you."

Numair looked quizzically at his mentor. "Oh?"

"It seems that the Great Mother and Mithros have allied themselves with each other. "Expect to be working closely with Mithros' Chosen as well."

There was a sinking feeling in Alanna's stomach. "Mithros only lavishes his favors on the Crown of Tortall. You can't mean…"

_Incoming_! George stepped out of the way.

With a slight thud, an all too familiar figure clumsily materialized where the baron had been standing. Numair sighed. "I think you're right, Alanna."

"What in the mortal realms am I doing in Pirate's Swoop?"

"_Im_mortal realms," Numair replied, helping the King of Tortall on his feet. "Hello, Highness."

George shook his head. Things truly were going to get interesting from now on, with two of Tortall's most important figures kidnapped by the gods.

"Alanna, George...Numair!" the Tortallan king was perplexed. "What's the meaning of this?"

King Jonathan's champion jabbed Numair in the stomach. "Ask the expert here. I am _not _amused."

Thom and Numair exchanged looks. The demi-god began his explanation and was interrupted when a silver mist rolled from outside and into the room. As the mist condensed to form a sort of shape, the figure of a woman emerged, white eyes burning with power. Alanna's brother took a deep bow. "My goddess."

The woman kept her gaze at Thom. "There are tests to be had, Chosen. For that I make you mortal."

"Wait," Thom's head snapped back up. "Who are you using as the connector?"

"Your closest kin," Shakith's gaze moved towards the lady knight.

Alanna's brother paled. "No, goddess—"

"It has been decided." Silver mist covered the goddess' body once more and slowly dissipated out of the room. The room's occupants watched in silence until no trace of the mist could be seen.

George frowned. "Thom, what did you mean about connectors?"

Thom turned to the former Rogue with a grim expression. "If I die again, my closest kin goes down with me. Ancient divine magic calls for the use of a 'connector' in order for a god to pass by into the mortal world. Should the god's mortal body be destroyed, the connector's body will also perish."

Jon and George had jumped towards Thom with the hope of wringing the rest of the information out of him. Alanna was faster, however, and all they saw was the little woman's hand quickly coming down towards Thom's cheek. "You...and your gods...need to stop playing with my life as they see fit!"

"Look," Thom nursed his wounded skin. "This was not my idea! Do you honestly think I want you to leave the mortal realms now? It's too soon for that!"

"You idiot!" Alanna clenched her fists and took a deep breath. Her twin prepared for a more serious injury.

"Enough, Alanna," Numair said gently, placing himself in front of Thom. "If you kill him now, your life's over too. He's most likely mortal now, if he's already feeling your physical wrath."

George held Alanna around the shoulders protectively. "And this is why the dead should stay so. Nothing ever comes out well from it."

Tortall's king turned his attention to the balcony. "This is a mess. Do we know exactly why our lives are being toyed with now?"

The lady knight rolled her eyes. "We should probably start moving. If you have noticed, we're all unarmed. There has to be something around this Swoop replica that we can use to defend ourselves."

"Oh, besides using our Gifts?" George was still glaring at Thom.

"George, stop fretting," the baron's wife said, freeing herself from his hold. "We can cover more ground if we split up for now."

"Good. I'm staying with you, then," George Cooper nodded his head at the Lioness. "And so is Thom. I have no choice but to keep him alive as well."

Alanna, however, had other plans. She smiled. "I trust you will keep Thom alive, love. That's why I'm going with Numair and Jon. Numair and I can't stay with Thom, it would be pointless if we can't communicate with each other. No, you're better off with him."

George was about to protest. "And Jon's not leaving my sight. If I do die, the king of Tortall needs to get back to the mortal realms."

"She's right, George," Numair replied. "Thom and I are better off apart, we can communicate easily that way. And Thom's connector should probably be elsewhere, I'm actually not sure if the reverse happens if Thom is killed."

"Nor am I," Thom said sullenly.

The baron of Pirate's Swoop groaned. He hated this arrangement. After both groups parted ways, George grabbed Thom's wrist and gave him a warning growl. "You better make sure you use your magic to keep yourself alive at all costs. I'm not about to lose a wife so soon."

The sorcerer stared at his twin's spouse. "Honestly, Cooper, do you think I'd be happy to see my sister as a permanent fixture in the Immortal Realms? Believe me, it's not my intention. No, she's going to die of a ripe old age in the mortal world."

"I hope you're right, Thom," George eased his grip and walked alongside his brother-in-law. And he prayed that the gods weren't that brutal.

_Prepare yourself for the worst, Chosen_.

George quickened his step.

**Chapter 2**

**Changes**

There was no end to the amethyst glare that Alanna was now giving to the two men with her. "I don't suppose they could just take the time to explain what we're all supposed to be doing here."

"I suppose not," Numair scratched his head and looked out again, whistling. "Well, this is quite grand, if I do say so myself."

"Unbelievable! You don't seem to be phased by all this?!"

Numair's eyes narrowed. "It's not really my place to question the gods, Lioness. Remember, I've only just escaped captivity by someone who thinks of himself as a god. Questioning the real ones would no doubt be worse."

"I am just wondering," George interjected, snapping Alanna out of her rage. "Why are all of us here? I mean, I don't mind bein' able to keep an eye on my wife, but if this is a competition between the Chosen of certain gods…"

"I don't suppose I would know that. Truthfully, you and I shouldn't be here, George," Numair replied.

"The Lioness needs friends to help her, no?" a figure materialized beside Numair. "Besides, as wonderfully skilled as any of the gods' Chosen are, they're going to need a lot of help up here."

"Thom!"

The demi-god bowed. His purple eyes twinkled with laughter. "Funny seeing you here, sis. I was hoping I wouldn't get to until, oh…your mortal life _actually _ended."

"Funny," even with the slight agitation she felt from being yanked out of the mortal world, she still had to smile after seeing her twin. "You're doing well, at least."

"Well enough," he hugged her and turned to the men near her sister. "Now, George, I've got to speak to you in a moment. _Privately_. And Arram, I believe the rules have now changed since I last spoke to you."

Numair looked quizzically at his mentor. "Oh?"

"It seems that the Great Mother and Mithros have allied themselves with each other. "Expect to be working closely with Mithros' Chosen as well."

There was a sinking feeling in Alanna's stomach. "Mithros only lavishes his favors on the Crown of Tortall. You can't mean…"

_Incoming!_ George stepped out of the way.

With a slight thud, an all too familiar figure clumsily materialized where the baron had been standing. Numair sighed. "I think you're right, Alanna."

"What in the mortal realms am I doing in Pirate's Swoop?"

"_Im_mortal realms," Numair replied, helping the King of Tortall on his feet. "Hello, Highness."

George shook his head. Things truly were going to get interesting from now on, with two of Tortall's most important figures kidnapped by the gods.

"Alanna, George...Numair!" the Tortallan king was perplexed. "What's the meaning of this?"

King Jonathan's champion jabbed Numair in the stomach. "Ask the expert here. I am _not _amused."

Thom and Numair exchanged looks. The demi-god began his explanation and was interrupted when a silver mist rolled from outside and into the room. As the mist condensed to form a sort of shape, the figure of a woman emerged, white eyes burning with power. Alanna's brother took a deep bow. "My goddess."

The woman kept her gaze at Thom. "There are tests to be had, Chosen. For that I make you mortal."

"Wait," Thom's head snapped back up. "Who are you using as the connector?"

"Your closest kin," Shakith's gaze moved towards the lady knight.

Alanna's brother paled. "No, goddess—"

"It has been decided." Silver mist covered the goddess' body once more and slowly dissipated out of the room. The room's occupants watched in silence until no trace of the mist could be seen.

George frowned. "Thom, what did you mean about connectors?"

Thom turned to the former Rogue with a grim expression. "If I die again, my closest kin goes down with me. Ancient divine magic calls for the use of a 'connector' in order for a god to pass by into the mortal world. Should the god's mortal body be destroyed, the connector's body will also perish."

Jon and George had jumped towards Thom with the hope of wringing the rest of the information out of him. Alanna was faster, however, and all they saw was the little woman's hand quickly coming down towards Thom's cheek. "You...and your gods...need to stop playing with my life as they see fit!"

"Look," Thom nursed his wounded skin. "This was not my idea! Do you honestly think I want you to leave the mortal realms now? It's too soon for that!"

"You idiot!" Alanna clenched her fists and took a deep breath. Her twin prepared for a more serious injury.

"Enough, Alanna," Numair said gently, placing himself in front of Thom. "If you kill him now, your life's over too. He's most likely mortal now, if he's already feeling your physical wrath."

George held Alanna around the shoulders protectively. "And this is why the dead should stay so. Nothing ever comes out well from it."

Tortall's king turned his attention to the balcony. "This is a mess. Do we know exactly why our lives are being toyed with now?"

The lady knight rolled her eyes. "We should probably start moving. If you have noticed, we're all unarmed. There has to be something around this Swoop replica that we can use to defend ourselves."

"Oh, besides using our Gifts?" George was still glaring at Thom.

"George, stop fretting," the baron's wife said, freeing herself from his hold. "We can cover more ground if we split up for now."

"Good. I'm staying with you, then," George Cooper nodded his head at the Lioness. "And so is Thom. I have no choice but to keep _him _alive as well."

Alanna, however, had other plans. She smiled. "I trust you _will _keep Thom alive, love. That's why I'm going with Numair and Jon. Numair and I can't stay with Thom, it would be pointless if we can't communicate with each other. No, you're better off with him."

George was about to protest. "And Jon's not leaving my sight. If I _do_ die, the king of Tortall needs to get back to the mortal realms."

"She's right, George," Numair replied. "Thom and I are better off apart, we can communicate easily that way. And Thom's connector should probably be elsewhere, I'm actually not sure if the reverse happens if Thom is killed."

"Nor am I," Thom said sullenly.

The baron of Pirate's Swoop groaned. He hated this arrangement. After both groups parted ways, George grabbed Thom's wrist and gave him a warning growl. "You better make sure you use your magic to keep yourself alive at all costs. I'm not about to lose a wife so soon."

The sorcerer stared at his twin's spouse. "Honestly, Cooper, do you think I'd be happy to see my sister as a permanent fixture in the Immortal Realms? Believe me, it's not my intention. No, she's going to die of a ripe old age in the mortal world."

"I hope you're right, Thom," George eased his grip and walked alongside his brother-in-law. And he prayed that the gods weren't _that_ brutal.

_Prepare yourself for the worst, Chosen._

George quickened his step.


	3. Revelations

**Disclaimer --- **While I do wish that I had a hand in writing up the Tortallan universe, we all know that the ever-fabulous Tamora Pierce was its sole creator. So yeah, I don't own these characters. At all.

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**Chapter 3**

**Revelations**

"You'd think gods would have more sense than this," Jon muttered, peering into a cupboard. "They're all brothers and sisters, and they can't get along with themselves!"

"Should you be insulting gods in their realm?" Numair replied. He picked up an overturned book and flipped through it. "I had the impression they can hear everything we say."

"Then Mithros should strike me down for insolence," Jonathan of Conte dared.

"Both of you should shut up and get back to work," Alanna yelled at them from behind the door. "Just because we haven't heard anyone yet doesn't mean this place is deserted. Let's go!"

The room was picked apart to Numair and Jon's satisfaction. The tall, dark-haired sorcerer sighed. "Nothing, Alanna. Maybe another room?"

Tortall's champion sighed. So much for getting back to the mortal realms sooner than later. "I'll take a look down the hallway."

Alanna walked a bit further, looking for any signs of disturbance. After months of exploring the Swoop, she was now familiar with every passage and room that if she'd been blind, she could still walk down this particular hallway and know where the rooms are. The Lioness had her eyes opened, however, and she scanned the area for any aberrations. After passing another door, she glimpsed an image in the corner of her eye. Turning, Alanna saw a tapestry that she wasn't familiar with and approached it. To her surprise, behind the long dark cloth was a door to another room. Curious, the lady knight went inside.

She frowned. Inside, the floor and ceiling were made of black marble, glistening from the streaming light at its lone window. Alanna assumed the walls were also made of the same material, though she couldn't tell from all the paintings that covered the surface. "This is definitely _not _part of the Swoop..."

"Anything interesting, Alanna?" Numair poked his head in and whistled at the sight. "Now this is something. Do you know what these paintings are?"

Both sorcerers took a closer look. "My word! These are pictures of the gods' creation! Look at this, Alanna, I believe this may even be the processes underlying the Great Mother Goddess' conception into the world."

Numair talked animatedly as he perused the images in the room. One by one he exclaimed about the beauty and intense power that Father Universe and Mother Flame had possessed to develop their creations. It was only after a few minutes of his rambling did he notice that his friend had kept silent, her eyes glued to a lone picture. "Alanna?"

The lady knight stood frozen in front of a large painting. Numair stood next to her and examined it. He noticed that the picture was broken into four frames and told the story of a city. In one corner, the city gleamed in full glory. Handsome, majestic beings walked the streets hand in hand. The other corners, however, showed that the city did not retain its beauty; the next two frames portrayed bursts of fire and war. The final picture held only remains of what once was.

It was the last picture that Alanna's eyes were acutely boring into. Before Numair could ask her what the matter was, she turned around and briskly walked out into the hall. "Numair, let's go. This room is making me nervous."

Puzzled, the sorcerer followed suit, only glancing back to examine the picture that shook the King's Champion. He whistled in awe and closed the door behind him.

---

Thom found it extremely odd that Shakith had completely closed herself from him. Was he not her Chosen? And furthermore, hadn't he proved himself time and time again that he was a competent demi-god? He wondered what the Great Gods were truly planning for his companions.

The demi-god's thoughts were interrupted when George lightly swatted him on the head. "Were you listenin' to anythin' I said?"

"Clearly not," Thom replied sourly, rubbing the back of his head. "What is it now, brother dear?"

George Cooper's eyes narrowed. "I don't need this form of condescension from you, lad. You're lucky I've got a few reasons for keepin' you alive _this time_."

Thom chuckled. "And am I ever grateful for that."

The former Rogue shook his head and dropped the subject. He pointed to a bookshelf. "Now I took a look at most of the books in the rooms we've been passin' through—"

"Yes, and so have I."

"Let me finish," George replied, patiently, "Those books were all about spells, most even more complex than I'd dare to learn."

"That doesn't surprise me, George," Thom pointed out. "You're not really much of a mage, for all your Seeing Gift."

_If you don't harangue him, Chosen, I will!_

Smirking, the former Rogue continued, as though the last comment never happened. "Then I suppose you've also noticed that the books in here are different. Or were you too busy thinkin' up insults to see?"

Thom blinked. "Different, huh?" He leafed through the shelf and picked a book at random. The cover was blank, and when he opened the book, he whistled. The pages were almost too fragile to handle, so much so that he warily used his Gift to turn them. His eyes bulged.

"That interestin'?" George asked, thoughtful. "I could only make up a few words, but it looks like it's givin' lists of names."

"You can read this?" Thom's voice was a mixture of surprise and respect.

The baron of Pirate's Swoop shrugged. "Very little. I don't pretend to be a great scholar like some people, but my mother was always keen on educatin'."

"I've underestimated you, George." Though Alanna's husband doubted the sincerity in those words. He carefully watched his brother-in-law leafing through the pages, muttering words under his breath. After some time, Thom closed the book. He turned to the baron and smiled grimly. "These are names of renowned sorcerers, fighters, and strategists. Most of them have already been taken by the Black God, but I wonder if we are supposed to keep some of them in mind..."

George raised an eyebrow. "Think Alanna's name is in there?"

"It is," Thom tossed the book to George, who caught it easily. "Along with King Jonathan of Conte, Crown Princess Alexa of Danne, Lord Myscha of Tirragen, Count Peldor of the Copper Isles, Joesh Valany the Shang Falcon, and Zephyrus Muhassin Tasikhe, Emperor Ozorne's estranged younger brother."

Then, Thom cast a strange glance at his sister's husband. "Your entire family line is in it, too."

"Huh," George frowned as his fingers traced the glowing words _Beka Cooper_ on the page. He remembered the stories his mother related to him about his ancestors. "Well color me impressed."

"That's not all," Thom sighed and turned around to find another book. "All these books have the same content in them. Repeated writings of the same names. I think those that are still living may be our competitors."

There was a long silence after that. George put the book down and rubbed his tired eyes. Due to his complex and rather effective spy network, he knew all of the names that Thom provided him. And from his information, the other five were definitely not to be trifled with. "So that's five people to worry about, I take it."

"Maybe more," Thom said, his face grim. "The good news is the two of us won't have to worry about them. Alanna and Jon are the ones they'd be after."

George made a face. "I don't know about you, but _that_ is why I'm worryin'."


	4. Meetings

_**Erm, yes, I am horrible at updating at , considering I post most of my recent chapters up on LJ. XD I'll do better, I swear!**_

**Disclaimer --- **While I do wish that I had a hand in writing up the Tortallan universe, we all know that the ever-fabulous Tamora Pierce was its sole creator. So yeah, I don't own these characters. At all.

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**Chapter 4**

**Meetings**

"Numair," Alanna blinked. "Wasn't Jon behind you?"

"He certainly was," Numair responded, stepping out of the marbled room. "Is he still back in the other room?"

"If he is, I wouldn't know," the lady knight examined her surroundings. "This wasn't the same hallway we were in minutes ago."

Numair Salmalin raised an eyebrow. Like Alanna, he swiveled his head around in search of Tortall's king, to no avail. In fact, they were no longer down a narrow hallway. Beyond the room concealed by the tapestry was an open chamber, littered with paintings and suits of armor on the sides. A lone door was at the end of the room, runes decorating the top. This sort of phenomena was beyond anything he'd ever studied in his books.

While Numair looked on in awe, the Lioness was becoming even more nervous. If they were in this area, then Jonathan was elsewhere. The King's Champion could not have the king of Tortall lost in the Immortal Realms. He didn't even have an heir yet, he should not be endangering himself! "We need to go back."

"Of course," Numair replied, snapping out of his wandering thoughts. He turned around to open the door for the lady knight, but found nothing behind the tapestry. "Lioness, I believe we have another small problem."

He pointed to where the door was supposed to be. "I don't think we can make our way backwards."

Alanna groaned. Brilliant. Just more stress than she needed. Almost hopelessly, she grasped the pendant around her neck, checking to find a hint of blue aura anywhere. Seeing nothing, she attempted another method. Probing her mind, she reached into her Gift and searched for her connection with the Voice.

There! She felt him. He was just fine. She probed his mind to see if he would respond. A large spark ignited and set her Gift afire. Out of surprise and unable to move further, she terminated her magic and gasped for breath. Numair was at her side immediately, concern showing in his face. "Did you find him?"

"He's fine," Alanna rubbed her temples to ease the headache that presently arrived. "I just couldn't reach him. Maybe I'll try again later. But for now, I suppose we should keep going."

Numair agreed with that decision and started heading towards the only direction they were given. When both sorcerer and knight reached the door, Alanna turned the knob and pulled. She froze.

"Oh! Pardon me!" a voice cried out in surprise at the other end.

"I told you I heard people, Princess," a large, muscled, dark man said, his voice booming. "Although, I think these bunch we can trust not to be reckless."

Numair bowed deeply at the slender brunette, while Alanna fixed her startled expression to that of a calmer one. The lady knight inclined her head towards where she and the sorcerer came from. "I'm afraid this room is a dead end. We were just walking out."

"There used to be another door in here," the young lady next to the large man said. Her gaze was unmoving and her astonishing silver eyes were facing the tapestry that Alanna and Numair had appeared out of. "Is that not where you came from?"

"It is indeed, princess," Numair answered. "But I'm afraid if you plan on making an exit the same way, you'll find that our means of entering this room has disappeared."

The princess turned her head towards Tortall's champion. "Are you not Sir Alanna, King's Champion of Tortall? I do not recognize your companion..."

"No need for such long introductions," Alanna smiled tentatively. "But I am Alanna, yes. My friend is Numair Salmalin, a sorcerer."

"One of the king's finest, milady," Numair corrected.

Alanna rolled her eyes. The princess smiled and patted her companion. "This is Zeph. Or Zephyrus Muhassin Tasikhe. He's a prince in his own right, although from what I take it, he is not very near inheriting the throne."

The other man smirked. "No, I think my older brother enjoys his rule too much for that. Besides, I rather like being free to do what I want elsewhere."

Numair took a slight step back and narrowed his eyes. "You are Emperor Ozorne's brother?"

Zeph shrugged. "Speaking in blood, yes. Though I do not care for his regime or his ideals. But Alanna the Lioness? That is a name everyone in Carthak has heard. You Eastern Landers have quite the legend surrounding her. It is a pleasure finally seeing the real figure."

Alanna blushed. She was never going to get used to the praises people continue saying about her. "All outlandishly exaggerated, I'm sure."

"I am Alexa of Danne," the girl politely dove into a curtsey. "And all formalities now aside, I would like to point out that I feel another door has come to fruition. Since we cannot seem to go forward, and you cannot go back, perhaps we can all band together and walk in the same direction? I hate to be troublesome, but while the gods have their plan, Zeph and I are not keen on such minor disagreements."

The Carthaki nodded. "The princess has a sort of...foresight. She managed to find me struggling through a maze back there. I am no sorcerer, so her Gift certainly helped."

Tortall's lady knight turned to Numair, her Gift projecting her thoughts to Numair. _I don't see the harm in joining them. Besides, you seem to be taken with the girl._

Numair nodded. "Although, wouldn't the gods be angry at all this alliance forming?"

"We shall come to that if it comes," Zeph chuckled. He held his arm out for the princess to take and led her out towards another room. "Let's go, before this next door disappears just as yours did."

Behind the Carthaki and the princess, Alanna walked, deep in thought. She frowned and turned to Numair. "Alexa of Danne. Is she Tusaine?"

The sorcerer nodded. "Crown princess of Tusaine, actually. Though the title means nothing in Tusaine. Female heirs are pressured upon to marry well, and her husband would be the next ruler. This particular one has been blessed and cursed by Gainel himself."

"How so?"

"Her Gift is severely strong, which explains why she is able to make outlines of everything around her. But she's completely blind, Alanna."

The Lioness watched the princess and realized the reason for Zephyrus' taking particular care to lead the girl. When she turned around, it was to signal to Alanna and Numair that she had found the room with the newly "opened door."

Alexa of Danne, crown princess of Tusaine, was by Tortallan standards a beauty. Her hair was tied up into a neat braid to her side, and she was dressed plainly in a riding skirt and tunic. She couldn't be more than 16, and she seemed more perceptive than people give her credit for. Alanna puzzled over this as she followed the girl into another room.

Numair, however, had other thoughts in his mind. Namely, if the crown princess of Tusaine, a girl most well-known for her Gift, and the best fighter of Carthak were here, who else had appeared in this competition?

"You know, Alanna," Numair spoke to his friend, "I'm beginning to wonder if this is a competition at all..."

---

Jonathan of Conte, King of Tortall, and Voice of the Tribe of the Bazhir to the South, did not believe his bad luck. Ever since he had been upended from his study and dropped into a mockup of Pirate's Swoop, he knew it wasn't a good idea to do anything rash. And yet, here he was. Alone.

The king had turned around, saw Numair walking into a room behind a tapestry and followed. But when he reached the tapestry, there was no door to open. He scowled, disbelieving, and summoned up his Gift. Blue fire washed over what he supposed was the door, but there was nothing that could induce it to open. After a third try, his forehead was sweating, and his patience was beginning to wear thin. "Of all things holy..."

He heard footsteps near him. Jon's eyes brightened. Perhaps Alanna and Numair had made their way around the room. He headed towards the voices and stopped in his tracks. Two men rounded the corner and went towards the Tortallan king's direction. One of them—a long-faced, heavyset man dressed in noble livery—wore Tirragen colors, while the other was unfamiliar to Jon. The second man, leaner and taller than the other, was the first to spot him.

"Oh? You there!" he spoke hoarsely, "No use skulking around in corners, we've seen you already."

The man's companion turned his head towards Jonathan's direction and stiffened. Before he could react however, Jon nodded at him and curled his lips upward into a small smile. Once he approached, he clasped his hands with the man from Tirragen. "Myscha, this is more than a surprise."

"Indeed," the one called Myscha replied, his smile forced. "Although why _I _should be as surprised to see you here is beyond me, considering."

"Who is this, Lord Myscha?" the other man asked, puzzled. "I take it you know him?"

Myscha watched Jon's cool, sapphire gaze. He turned to his companion. "He's Tortallan, like me. Lord Jonathan of the house of Naxen. Jon, this is Count Peldor, from the Copper Isles."

Jon took a bow and smirked when he faced the floor. If only the lord of Naxen could hear the lies now! "Prince."

"Humph," the prince replied warily. "I've heard of Naxen. The lord and ambassador has a reputation that shines as largely as his father before him."

"Then you know that the current lord doesn't speak very much about his younger cousin," the king of Tortall replied. "I'm afraid I've crossed him a few times."

The Tirragen lord nodded. Count Peldor scratched his head and looked around. "Were you walking alone this entire time? You should just come with us, Lord Naxen, who knows how the others will come at us. Strength comes in numbers, no?"

Rather than reply, Jon shrugged. He wasn't very sure whether to trust this lot, especially when the gods designed a competition against those Chosen. If it was indeed a competition, what then? These men would as soon as turn on him. But he didn't have much of a choice in the matter. "I suppose."

"Good," the count replied. "We were heading down that way, there seems to be nothing behind us."

Without waiting for the other two, the Count of the Copper Isles headed forward. Myscha of Tirragen hung back to walk with Jonathan. After some distance was made between them and the count, he leaned in towards his king. "Highness, you might have to watch out for the good count. He may be generous now, but he isn't very far removed from his royal cousins. And we know the royal family is still resentful for your deposing of their daughter."

"Just as I am still resentful for Tirragen's treachery," Jon said evenly.

Tirragen's lord straightened, as though he had been hit. "How long must my older brother's actions dwell upon the rest of Tirragen?"

"If I recall, Myscha," the king replied, "You were one of the officers who raided the castle on the day of your brother's death. While I have pardoned everyone who had been involved in the raid, please excuse me if I don't yet trust anyone who tried to have me killed."

Jonathan's pace became faster as he fought to catch up with Count Peldor. He turned around and smirked at the Tirragen lord, "Although, I do thank you for the warning and the secrecy. Bear in mind I _will _be watching my back. From the count's and yours."

_And I am highly prepared to escape if necessary, _he thought to himself. Jonathan went back to his own thoughts, wondering if Alanna and Numair met with the same problems.


	5. Attack

**Disclaimer --- **While I do wish that I had a hand in writing up the Tortallan universe, we all know that the ever-fabulous Tamora Pierce was its sole creator. So yeah, I don't own these characters. At all.

-------------

**Chapter 5  
Attack**

"I may have found the armory," Thom pointed out.

The two stumbled into a room filled with assorted weapons and shields. Instead of chiding Thom for declaring the obvious, the former Rogue stepped in and rummaged through a pile. He clucked his teeth in disapproval of the state that the room was in. "Weapons should never just be thrown aside like this. Disgraceful."

The demi-god followed George into the room, sidestepping all of the swords and shields. His interest was more glued towards the pendants hanging in disarray to the side. Thom plucked an ornate gold chain with a lone diamond in the middle. "At least the jeweler had some taste. But most of these pendants don't really have much protective magic in them."

Just then, the diamond gleamed in his hand. Thom dropped it in surprise, but picked it up afterwards. "I might be wrong."

"It happens from time to time, Thom," George replied, examining a set of daggers. After testing their edges, he reinforced himself with more daggers to his shirt and pants. Now if he could only find a decent sword from all the rubble...

_There's a nice sharp blade underneath that shield of a wolf_, a voice suggested to him. George quickly stood up and drew a dagger. Behind him, Thom turned, alarmed. "Is someone else in here?"

George and Thom heard meowing afterwards and looked down. Below them, a black cat was licking its paw. _Really, no need to be so jumpy, do I look like I can leave mortal wounds on you?_

The baron of Pirate's Swoop scowled. "You can't be—"

"It's you!" Thom was awed. He knelt down and scooped the cat up, careful not to cause it so much discomfort. It gave a small hiss of disapproval anyway, but finally settled on Thom's shoulder. _Yes, clearly._

"You were immortal all along, huh?" George asked, realizing.

The black cat watched George, its purple eyes uncannily like the ones whose shoulder he was sitting on. Before it answered, however, it yawned and bade Thom to transfer him to the thief. Thom chuckled and complied.

_You two have been creating a ruckus in here_, The Cat replied, _I was taking a nap._

"In an armory?" Thom smirked.

_It didn't used to be an armory_, he shot back. _Baron, stop looking at me as if all cats can be raised from the dead. If you are that surprised that I was an immortal, then I overestimated your Sight._

George scratched its ear and the feline purred. "Well you gave me the fright, little one. It's not every day I get to see you walkin' around, after Alanna'd told me you lost your life to that Copper Isles princess."

The Cat stretched itself on the baron's shoulder, yawning again. _We can catch up later, but for now, I've decided to tag along._

"Don't trust us to get things done correctly, Cat?" Thom asked, raising an eyebrow. "I'm mortal, but I'm not that incompetent."

_Don't get cocky, sorcerer._

Thom sighed. "And what are we calling you this time?"

Purple feline eyes turned to George. Alanna's husband grabbed the cat from his shoulder and placed him back on the ground. "I don't mind callin' you Faithful again, you know. For old time's sake."

The newly re-dubbed Faithful mewed with approval. _Works just fine_. Faithful pranced back towards where he was sitting before George and Thom found him. _As I was saying, there's a nice sword underneath that shield. Are you going to pick it up or not?_

George grinned and lifted an old scabbard. It tingled of the Gift somewhat, which left a bit of his hand numb. "This isn't for me, Faithful."

The cat beckoned George to put the sword beside him. Placing his paw on the sword, Faithful muttered a few words at it. Thom watched him with curiosity. When the magic was done, Alanna's old pet pushed the sword towards George again.

"What did you do to it?" Thom asked.

_Nothing. I just told it to settle down._

The sword didn't feel uncomfortable the second time George lifted it. Satisfied that there was no strange magic trying to get out, he slid the sword in its scabbard and attached it to his side. "Mayhap now we won't be so easily ambushed later."

"You folk and your weapons," Thom made a face, "Give me a book or a scroll any day." After a slight pause to look over the room, he brushed the dust from his robe and stepped out of the armory, only to find himself staring straight at a large, wooden crossbow pointed towards him. "Oh."

"It would be best if you didn't move, Fire-Hair," the man with the weapon said, "Or it's one clean shot through your skull."

The former Rogue, hidden inside the room, quietly made his way besides Thom, just behind the steel door. He steadied his new sword beside him and bided his time. Thom felt a small tug on his sleeve and touched the hilt of a dagger being thrusted towards him. The sorcerer refrained from showing any emotion and closed his hand around the weapon. He gave his assailant a stony glare. "I suppose you find this fulfilling, ambushing an unarmed man?"

Thom's attacker chuckled. "Unarmed? The only people unarmed these days are hand-fighters or sorcerers. And seeing as you're just a little too brittle to be kickin' and punchin', I'm gonna guess sorcerer."

"Then you know I can easily set your crossbow on fire," Thom replied steadily. "If I were you, I'd put the bow down and I might be more lenient."

"You? Lenient? You can't expect to best me!"

"On the contrary, I can burn you down to the ground in your prime," Thom told him, smiling maliciously.

The man cursed the sorcerer, pulled on the bow and fired. Thom had closed his eyes and began to mutter under his breath, but was interrupted when he heard the arrow make contact with steel. Before he could see what had deflected the arrow, Thom was quickly reeled back by the quick pull from his friend, who had guessed when the man would strike. George growled orders to stay down at Alanna's brother, unsheathed two daggers, and headed towards the stranger.

It was a quick battle. The attacker had lost his temper after Thom's small declaration and was not nearly fast enough to fend off George's blows. George had not intended on killing the man, but he had fired at Thom to kill, and the baron of Pirate's Swoop was not forgiving when his wife's life was indirectly on the line. Oh, no, this one was not staying up for long.

Purple fire burst forth from behind George, hitting his opponent square in the chest. This force pushed the man from underneath the former Rogue, and Thom's attacker was slammed towards a wall, unmoving. George turned to Thom, who was paler than normal. He stood up, lightly panting. "You didn't let me kill him."

"No," Thom stood up.

"Why?"

"We don't want to incur a god's wrath because you killed his Chosen," the sorcerer argued. "And besides, I could have handled him."

George snorted. "That you could. But you forget you're mortal, and you're connected to Alanna. I'd rather you not do much more reckless things."

The baron approached the unconscious attacker. Satisfied that the stranger had no other hidden object besides his now-discarded bow, he picked up the weapon in question and unceremoniously threw it into the armory room. Faithful softly padded out, whining at the noise the former thief was making. George chuckled. "Was the fightin' boring you that you took another nap in there?"

_I'm just a cat_, Faithful responded haughtily. _You and the sorcerer clearly didn't need any help._

"I told you I was competent," Thom muttered. He nudged the unconscious body with his foot. "What do we do with this guy?"

George looked around. To the right of the armory was a slightly open door, bags of grain sticking out from a table inside. The baron grinned. George bent down to grab the unconscious man by his feet and dragged him over to the storage room. After dumping him inside, he closed the door. "Thom, think you can lock this?"

The sorcerer chuckled. "I wondered why I liked you. Dishonorable as ever, I see."

"I'm improvisin'," George replied blandly. "Besides, he'll have more than enough to survive if all of us are stuck here for days on end."

Once Thom muttered the closing incantation, he nodded. "We should move along. At least that's one Chosen down. A handful more to go!"

"With luck, we'll encounter and render all of them unconscious," George suggested. He picked Faithful up and put him over his shoulder. "It's odd, Faithful. You're here and the voice inside my head disappears. You and Kyprioth aren't at odds with each other, are you?"

_Cats and birds don't usually mix_, Faithful purred. _Though the Trickster is otherwise occupied._

The baron laughed.


	6. Communication

**Side note** --- I'm getting through with writing this story. I apologize for the sporadic posting intervals. That's the story of my life these days XD

**Disclaimer --- **While I do wish that I had a hand in writing up the Tortallan universe, we all know that the ever-fabulous Tamora Pierce was its sole creator. So yeah, I don't own these characters. At all.

-------------

**Chapter 6**

**Communication**

Alanna had absolutely no idea how they found their way outside, but sure enough, she stood just next to the door (which Alexa insisted was a "portal" to the divine realms) and stared at the meadow in front of her. Numair, Zephyrus, and Alexa were already walking ahead of her, so she cleared her head and followed, though rather warily. The Lioness hadn't seen this part of the Divine Realms. In fact, the last time her consciousness made its way to the realm of the gods, it was a large, scorching desert...

She shivered at the thought of undergoing the ordeal again. Alanna noticed Numair watching her when she walked up beside him. She forced a smile. "Anything the matter?"

"You look so pensive, it seems as though you're preparing for the worst in there," he tapped his finger on her temple. "Want to share your theories, at least?"

"It's nothing," Alanna lied. "A lot of this supernatural stuff always makes me nervous."

Numair chuckled. "For a sorceress, I'd thought you'd be used to this by now."

Alanna shook her head. "I'm always still learning about magic. I've never been as good as my brother when it comes to the Gift."

"Well, if you were, you'd run me out of my job," Numair responded logically.

The meadow eventually gave way to a rocky, dome-like structure hovering over them. Zephyrus released Alexa's hand and approached the opening. For a moment it looked like he had been swallowed up into the darkness, but he came back out just as quickly. He nodded to his companions. "Looks like a cave. Perhaps we can rest there for now? It seems like we've walked most of the day away."

The rest agreed and began to set up camp. Alanna hoped to be able to start a fire. If time existed in the Divine Realms, then a day would have passed since she and her friends have arrived there, and she wanted to see if they were alright. A dainty hand was tugging at her sleeve, and Alanna turned to see the crown princess at her side. "We can start a fire there, Sir Alanna. I can feel a chilly mist approaching tonight."

Alanna agreed and began to gather twigs and leaves. When she found her pile satisfactory, she clicked her fingers, purple fire springing up at her command. The Lioness watched her Gift dance around her fingers, her face concentrating on the pile below her. Once the fire started, she sat down next to it, bringing her hands in front to begin another incantation. Numair saw the lady knight's Gift cast a cool glow around the cave and made his way next to her and Alexa.

"The fire has already started," Alexa said, "Why is she using up more magic to sustain it?"

Numair watched the purple flames flicker some more until it brightened, then he turned his eyes away. "She's trying to See into the fire, princess. Although, she shouldn't be having this much trouble."

"Ahh," Alexa understood. "Perhaps I can help?" The princess pointed her finger at the fire and it flared a deep, forest green. Alanna and Alexa's Gifts combined, and just above the rising fire was a smoky silver screen.

Alanna's glazed eyes broke its contact from the fire and looked eagerly at the screen. Before she could see anything, though, she could hear voices. _"Hold on, I feel like we're bein' watched..."_

_"It might be because we _are _being watched," _another male voice replied. _"Look, here's a fireplace. Maybe if I just..."_

There were scuffled footsteps and what sounded like muttering. Suddenly, the screen flared up and Alanna could make out two faces, one with purple eyes like her own. "Thom! George! Thank the Goddess, I hadn't heard from you."

_"Alanna!" _George smiled, his handsome features clear amidst the screen. His eyes went to Numair, and then he whistled. _"You seem to have added to your party. I trust Numair is behavin'? If my eyes aren't lyin', is that the crown princess of Tusaine?"_

Numair glared and opened his mouth for a retort, but Thom waved his hand impatiently. _"Sister, I don't suppose anyone's attacked you lot yet? George and I somehow managed to get into a scuffle a few hours ago—"_

"Scuffle?" Alanna frowned. "Neither of you are hurt, are you?"

George chuckled. "Barely scratched, I promise you, lass."

The Lioness breathed a sigh of relief. "Goddess bless, that's one less thing to worry about for now..."

Numair guided Alexa out of earshot and bade her to sit away from the animated lady knight. "She probably would like a few minutes alone with her husband. I wouldn't blame her."

"Has Sir Alanna been married long?" the girl asked, her eyes staring straight towards the rocky walls.

"It's been a year now."

Alexa smiled. "The lady knight loves. It is very poetic. And you, Lord Salmalin, have you found your own Lioness?"

The sorcerer was surprised at her sudden interest in him and replied, "It's just Numair, if you please, princess. I'm not a noble like my lady companion."

"But that doesn't answer my question."

Numair chuckled. "I've just recently moved to Tortall, milady. Women are the least of my worries."

The crown princess nodded. "It must be a relief not worrying over finding a husband or a wife. Before I was whisked away to this unknown place, I was preparing for another meeting with a lord who has gained my father's favor. He seems to be the favorite for my hand in marriage."

"It's a shame," Numair pitied the woman, "Does he shower you with abundant affection at least?"

"I suppose," Alexa replied. "Though one cannot really tell when one is blind." She turned towards the sorcerer and tilted her head. "May I?"

Alexa of Danne held her hand up and placed it on Numair's cheek, her silver eyes shining with power. The sorcerer sat in silent scrutiny, wondering what she must be seeing in her mind, but he said nothing for as long as she was occupied. The princess finally let her hand fall and she sighed. "You are a good man, Numair, though there are many troubled visions of your past. And many more obstacles await you in your future."

Numair frowned. "You could see my future?"

"Vividly," the girl replied, "Though it is not my place to tell you what you are about to encounter."

"No," Numair said. "I wouldn't want to know. Can you see your own future?"

Alexa smiled mysteriously. "Only the possibilities. No future is certain. We can only dabble in destiny, but whether we follow that path is a different matter. The Lioness has followed one of her destinies, but I assure you, she did not do it in the most conventional way."

Numair laughed. "I would be surprised if she did."

"Are you two talking about me?" Alanna's voice interrupted their conversation. She was looking down at the two, her hands on her hips. "Thom and George are still at the fire, they've got a few things to discuss with you."

The sorcerer got up and bade goodbye to the princess. Still in earshot, he could hear Alanna apologize for interrupting an otherwise cozy conversation. Numair grimaced. He hoped the Lioness wouldn't be so blunt. He nodded at Alanna's brother and husband in front of him. "I trust you have your matters in order?"

George smiled. _"We've assured Alanna that we shall be fine from here on out. We've got a few divine figures helpin' us. Unfortunately, Alanna and Thom can't reach Jonathan. His very bein' is still present, but—"_

_ "He might be blocking his mind from penetration," _Thom suggested. _"I think he's encountered a few people he isn't trusting."_

Numair sighed. "So we have to find him as soon as possible. This is getting to be most troublesome. Do you know where we should be heading? I hate to say this, but we're really just aimlessly wandering from one place to another. Even the crown princess can only tell us as much as where the next portal will open."

_"Just watch your back," _George said, his hazel eyes concerned. _"Mayhap you might encounter those who aren't afraid to take your lives. Keep Alanna out of danger, will you?"_

"Don't worry, baron. We've got a bit of muscle here ourselves. Besides Alexa, Ozorne's brother Zephyrus is here. And Alanna _is _the King's Champion. We should be fine, provided the gods don't attack us themselves."

_"You never know," _Thom muttered. _"The Cat says this mess goes beyond just a petty divine squabble, and I'm not liking this one bit."_

"The Cat? You can't mean—"

He heard a meowing coming from the screen. "Right, well then. That doesn't answer the question of what we should be doing though."

Thom rubbed his temples. _"Listen. The princess. Her Gift is beyond my powers of Sight. However, even she is limited by her knowledge of the future. She will keep finding key portals to lead you, but she will not know where not to tread. If you somehow make your way to a ruined city, _move out of there as quickly as you can_."_

"Why?" Numair frowned.

_"Don't dwell there," _Thom insisted. _"Just find the next portal and leave. Do you hear me?"_

Numair hesitated and nodded. Could this possibly link to the images that he and Alanna saw at the marble room? "Alright, we will leave ruined cities alone. I wish you'd let me know what the danger is, Thom."

_"Ruined cities contain old magic. Both dark and dangerous," _Alanna's brother argued solemnly_. "People have gone mad before, and those with the Gift can acutely feel the magic flowing around the place. With the magic you and Alanna carry, you can either lose your very essence or go mad with power."_

George looked at Thom with alarm. _"You neglected to tell me that, Thom."_

_ "Nevermind us," _Thom countered. _"You can stop one mad sorcerer. Three is a different story altogether."_

_ "Good point."_

The raven-haired sorcerer shook his head. "First the gods want us fighting amongst ourselves. Now we have to watch out for things that can muddle our minds and bring inner turmoil. There is just no end to battles, is there?"

_"Unfortunately not. Take care, Numair," _Thom said.

The screen melded back into the fire, and all Numair saw after that was the gentle blazing of purple.


	7. Inflammation

**Side note** --- Slightly shorter than the last few, forgive me! _

**Disclaimer --- **While I do wish that I had a hand in writing up the Tortallan universe, we all know that the ever-fabulous Tamora Pierce was its sole creator. So yeah, I don't own these characters. At all.

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**Chapter 7**

**Inflammation**

"So how am I supposed to keep _you _from going mad?" George asked once the fires dimmed and Thom was dousing the fireplace. "What if we land in this glorious city that you keep warnin' us about?"

Thom gave him a disturbed look. "Can we deal with that if we get to it? Please? I would rather not speak of them unless necessary. Even the mention of their names might give them power."

If George didn't know any better, he sensed that the demi-god was _frightened_ of whatever forces they might be dealing with. The baron knew Thom's avoidance of the subject was the same as his sister's, and if he was this secretive, it only led to unfortunate events. At least Thom wasn't trying to use enough magic to throw off the heavens.

_The sorcerer is wise to keep silent,_ Faithful replied, mewing near George's leg. _Even gods and immortals have sources of fear_.

"I suppose that's a healthy thing to be experiencin'," the former Rogue said softly. "Fear."

"We should probably start moving again," Thom changed the subject. "Alanna and Numair were both outside of Pirate's Swoop when we spoke to them. I suppose we should head their direction."

George smirked. "This has stopped bein' Pirate's Swoop a long time ago, Thom."

"I suppose you're right."

"That happens from time to time, too."

---

Alanna's nose itched terribly, and her eyes watered once they entered the forest clearing. It had been hours since they'd last entered a portal, and while the humidity was a welcome break from the tundra that they'd just exited from, the lady knight was beginning to mutter. "This is a wild goose chase."

Numair was inclined to agree at this point. So far there had been no obstacles, no creatures or other Chosen mortals wandering around. More than once the sorcerer doubted Princess Alexa's judgment calls. Yet they followed without question. When Alanna had asked the girl if there was any end result to the portal-travelling, she merely smiled and pointed out that there seemed to be no other way to go. Since there was no other logical explanation at the time, the Lioness grudgingly agreed. "I suppose, at least, George would be happy to have you alive."

"I would rather a dozen armored knights come running down this forest," Alanna replied bitterly, "At least then we'd be getting some action. I do not like wasting my time."

Numair laughed. "No, I suppose you don't. Do you ever just take a break?"

Tortall's Champion glared. "I _had _the free time to spend it with my husband. And look where it got us. Now he's traipsing with my brother, and I'm stuck with you and those two."

"Besides," Alanna added thoughtfully, "I don't know where Jonathan is. For all we know, he's been knocked unconscious and barely alive."

"Jon will be fine, Alanna," Numair told her coolly, "I am, however, concerned about Thom's warning regarding ruined cities. What do you suppose that meant?"

Alanna instinctively grasped at her pendant. "If it had something to do with those pictures we saw in that marble room, nothing good. I hate the feeling of old magic. The sorcerers I know who've used it never mean well by it."

There was a sharp ringing in her ears, and before she knew it, Zephyrus had hurtled himself towards the Lioness and pushed her to the ground. Alanna, stunned, reacted on reflex and used her feet to try to push the large man away. The two struggled on the ground, Zephyrus yelling warning signs to stay down.

"Alanna, it's the princess!" Numair yelled out, now also on the ground, ducking from danger.

When the lady knight finally calmed down enough, Ozorne's brother let her go. She sat up and realized why everyone was so bent on slamming themselves to the ground. Ahead of her, Tusaine's princess glowed an unnatural crimson color. Alanna's hairs stood on end. She saw that flames were dancing around Alexa, some shooting sparks in every direction. A smaller bolt of flame struck the area where Alanna and Zephyrus had been, singeing the large man's cheek. "What's happening to her?"

"I don't know!" Zephyrus cried out, the fire's crackling now increasing its power. He shivered uncontrollably after hearing the crown princess' shrill screams of pain. "One minute she was telling me the next portal was close, and the next she began to glow!"

Numair was muttering under his breath, eyes closed. Quickly after, his hand shot out and grabbed Alanna's arm. He was pale, as though something had pained him. "We have to pull her away from that portal. Something is eating away at her consciousness, Alanna!"

The Lioness glanced at Zephyrus, who had now stopped shaking. The large man nodded, biting his lip. "All this sorcery is going to be the end of me here, by the gods! Just give me the sign." With that, he slowly made his way towards the burning princess.

Alanna grasped Numair's hand, already summoning up the shield spell. "You better know what you're about to do," she whispered to her friend.

The sorcerer's face was full of concentration, his black Gift mingling with Alanna's bright purple. Numair pointed his free hand towards the princess, still shrieking with maddening fury. Like a wave, the energy Numair summed up within himself smashed towards the flames, breaking Alexa away from the flame for that split second.

Zephyrus needed no signal. He reached into the area doused by Numair and Alanna's magic and grabbed the princess. He pulled her out and began to run back to where Numair and Alanna were standing. When he finally reached their location, the princess's unnatural glow began to subside. Zephyrus let her go, still unnerved by the uncanny silver eyes, which were tinged with dark red. Alexa's eyelids shuttered close and she collapsed with a shudder, Numair catching her before she crashed to the ground.

"She's ice cold," Numair said, his one hand steadying the princess and his other pulling his cloak to cover her with. "Alanna, start a fire?"

"Oh, I think we've had enough fires for the day," Alanna replied grimly, stumbling a bit from the quick break that Numair made to their connecting Gifts. She placed her hand on Alexa's forehead and purple light danced around her fingertips. When the lady knight took her hand away, the princess's face regained its original complexion. "She should come to soon, we managed to get her out in time."

Numair stood, lifting the princess up. "I'm thinking whatever was pulling her towards that portal, it was the very thing that Thom was warning us about."

"Old magic," Alanna whispered, exhausted from overusing her Gift. She looked at the direction where Alexa had stood, screaming. Her eyes blurred for a moment, remembering her very first visions. "They're hungry."


	8. Betrayal

**Side note** --- Here's a little bit of Jonny-love action. Slightly shorter than my usual chapters, but you'll forgive me for that, hopefully? I'll make up for it in the next chapter!

**Disclaimer** --- While I do wish that I had a hand in writing up the Tortallan universe, we all know that the ever-fabulous Tamora Pierce was its sole creator. So yeah, I don't own these characters. At all.

* * *

**Chapter 8  
**

**Betrayal**

The minute he turned his back, the King of Tortall knew he was a trapped man. His captor, attention away from the king, was sharpening his blade and whistling a light tune. More than once, Jonathan tried to remember what had transpired and what went wrong. At first all his memories were jumbled, as though he had been drugged. He tried to move, but Jonathan was paralyzed.

Then his eyes sparked with remembrance. He had recalled his last conversation with his companions...

_"Do you suppose we could open that?" Count Peldor asked, pointing at a thick steel door._

_Jonathan had been examining the floor. Debris littered the area near the door and there was a smell of a mixture of blood and metal on the ground. "I think there may have been a minor scuffle around here."_

_Lord Myscha of Tirragen was already pulling on the door, putting his entire weight on the handle. After his third try, the metal hinges creaked and gave way. The muscled man peered inside, covering the doorway with his body. Peldor tapped his foot impatiently. "Well? What's in there?"_

_"Well, this is lucky!" Myscha cried out, turning to his companions. "It's the armory!"_

_"Weapons?" Jon frowned, worried. He didn't like the idea of being stuck with two distrustful men. "What kind?"_

_Myscha picked up a wooden crossbow and plucked its string. Satisfied that it was still durable, he held it in his right hand and rummaged around for a quiver of bolts. Peldor, now inside the armory, was examining the array of swords on the wall. It came to no surprise, then, that Jonathan followed suit. He was already strapping a sword to his side and then fingering the daggers that were on the table. The King of Tortall took hold of a twisted diamond-encrusted dagger and whistled. If only George had seen these babies..._

And that was the last thing he could recall. It had happened so quickly, he didn't even know who had hit him. Jonathan bitterly remembered his promise to keep an eye on the two men. "Yet I got myself into this mess," Jon muttered.

"Awake now?" his captor turned around, his tall, lanky figure giving an odd, angular shape on the ground as he sat. "Unfortunately, I couldn't get your friend, Lord Naxen."

Jon raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Myscha wasn't in this with you?"

The count of the Copper Isle shrugged. "I think he may have had some objections to my ambushing you earlier. Coward. Nevermind, I suppose one can't really trust sniveling Tortallans."

"Now what, Peldor?" Jon said, evenly. "Will you finish me off?"

Peldor laughed. "You underestimate me, Lord Naxen. I don't intend to kill you. I just meant to slow you down."

Jonathan caught movement in front of him. Behind Peldor, Lord Myscha of Tirragen was aiming the drawn crossbow he had picked towards the count. He motioned to Jon not to make sudden movements, and the Tortallan king swerved his eyes back at the approaching count. "Slow me down? What for?"

"We all know this is a competition! Don't play stupid, Naxen, it's unbecoming. As for me, I plan to please my god."

Myscha loosened the string. The arrow flew straight at Count Peldor's right shoulder, and he yelped in anguish. The count stumbled and fought the pain to turn and find his attacker. He gritted his teeth and swore. "You!"

"Please the gods? Don't we all," Myscha said drily, already aiming another arrow at Peldor. "Now, if you would be so kind, I'd like you to step away from your captive."

Peldor glared icily at the lord of Tirragen. He glanced to his side, in search of a means to protect himself. "Don't think about it, Count. I'd as soon as shoot this at your throat the moment you try to jump for a weapon. Now, to the side."

The count had no choice. He stepped aside, sporadically cursing at Jonathan's savior. With the crossbow still pointed at Peldor, Myscha backed up towards Jon and reached for the ropes. Using his other hand, Lord Tirragen reached into his pocket and pulled out the diamond dagger that Jon had been marveling before he was tied up. Myscha sliced his sovereign free with the weapon and threw it down the floor for his king to pick up.

"I suppose I owe you an apology," Jon murmured, his eyes tinged with a great deal of respect.

Myscha shrugged, still pointing his bow at Peldor. The Count's bleeding had stopped, and he hissed angrily at the Tortallans. "Well? What are you waiting for? You've freed him, get away from me!"

"I don't need to be told that twice," Jon said levelly, matching Peldor's gaze, his sapphire eyes darkening. "But I can't just have you wandering around trying to maim everyone you encounter."

Jonathan's fingers tingled with blue lightning. He muttered a few words of enchantment to himself and released the spark from his closed hand. It flew towards Peldor. A cloud of dust covered Peldor, and after a few seconds, it cleared up to display a smiling count. His injured arm was now glowing a deep ochre.

"Just the spark I needed to heal," Count Peldor smiled derisively, his uninjured arm holding its own ball of energy. "If I were you, I wouldn't try to fight my Gift. Leeching spells, any decent sorcerer should know how that works."

King Jonathan narrowed his eyes, surprised by the sudden turn of events. Myscha was shocked, though his hands held the bow steady. "Now what?"

It was Jonathan's turn to swear, and he pulled Myscha by the collar. "No point, I can't harm him with my Gift, he'll suck it dry. Keep your bow aimed at him, he's vulnerable to weapons. Let's go!"

"That's a lot to ask!" Myscha began hurriedly walking backwards, his eyes still watching the Copper Isles count. "I swear, Peldor, one step and I will shoot!"

Count Peldor let out a loud laugh. He covered himself in a deep mist, disappearing in a shower of golden dust. Jonathan's eyes widened. What manner of the Gift was this? His companion didn't hesitate and reattached his bow to the side. It was Myscha's turn to grab the king and goad him into running. After his slight daze, Jonathan ran in step with Tirragen's lord. The two stopped after moving a good distance away from where Peldor had disappeared. Myscha broke the silence first. "Do you think he followed us?"

Jonathan shook his head. "Even he can't make himself invisible all this time without either of us noticing him. If he's going to attack us, I'm sure we'll know. Come on, let's keep moving."

They heard a cackle split the air and braced for Peldor's attack. Instead, grey clouds began to manifest above them, images forming inside the clouds. Jonathan turned ghostly pale when he saw the image smile maliciously at him.

"But we destroyed you!"


	9. History

**Side note** --- Just a little clarification in the last chapter: In Peldor's POV, Myscha had introduced Jon as the "brother" of Lord Gareth of Naxen. So when Peldor refers to Jon, it's "Naxen." Myscha was careful not to trust a Copper Isle count with information about the King of Tortall, and Jon was no way going to correct the introduction. But yes, Jon is indeed a Conte, except when Peldor is in the picture.

**Disclaimer** --- While I do wish that I had a hand in writing up the Tortallan universe, we all know that the ever-fabulous Tamora Pierce was its sole creator. So yeah, I don't own these characters. At all.

* * *

**Chapter 9  
History**

Many thoughts coursed through Numair's mind those next few hours after Alexa fainted. They sat inside the forest clearing, huddled near the princess, wary of the instant she might burst out again. Numair, however, was fairly unconcerned that the princess would lose control. He knew her magic was spent for the time being, all of it had been released back near the portal. No, his thoughts lay elsewhere.

He watched his red-headed friend carefully. Alanna hadn't spoken ever since her enigmatic statement, but Numair knew by the lack of color in her face that she was hiding something that terrified her. She avoided his gaze and spent most of her time looking up at the giant leaves covering what looked like grey sky. After a quick decision, Numair left the sleeping Alexa's side and planted himself beside his friend.

"I really wish you wouldn't withdraw into yourself like this, Alanna," he finally broke the silence. "If you'd let me help—"

"What do you know of our ancestors? And the gods?" Alanna interrupted, her face giving nothing away.

The sorcerer frowned thoughtfully. That was unexpected. "Their history? There's a lot to be said about the gods. Even more so of the Old Ones, those that settled in the Eastern Lands."

"And the Ysandir?"

Numair was taken aback. He hadn't heard that name uttered with such familiarity. Not since his time as a scholar in Ozorne's palace. "I'm surprised you know their names. Most people usually refer to them as the Nameless Ones. Some legends vary, but the consensus is that they became cruel, even to the point where tribesmen trapped them in a city. Alanna, are they what's been bothering you?"

Amethyst eyes finally stared at the puzzled sorcerer. Slowly, she nodded. "That city was next to Persopolis."

"Not...you mean in Tortall?" Numair's eyes widened. "You can't...wait, that city you saw in the marble room. Was that where they resided?"

"The Black City," Alanna replied, she looked away again, as though recalling a memory from a long time ago. Then, her voice low and soft, "I think they're here, Numair."

Zephyrus approached the Tortallans. "She's waking."

They watched the princess struggle up in a sitting position, strands of strawberry blonde hair flying out of her braid. She lifted her hand to her head and absentmindedly patted the stray locks in place. Her eyes were back to their normal silver, and she stared ahead of her. "They didn't come after me."

"What?" Numair asked. "They?"

"No names were given," she shrugged and undid her braid. While her fingers began to work on her curls, she continued. "I felt their power and their hunger. They pulled the control away from me, and they took some of my Gift. But I was not their initial target."

She had stopped her braiding and looked straight at Tortall's champion. "You must have performed a very grievous crime to them, Sir Alanna. They're crying out for your blood."

The lady knight let out a breath and finally smiled grimly. "Somehow I'm not surprised. Do you know if they mentioned anyone else?"

Alexa nodded. "They did mention a second person, a dark-haired companion of yours."

"Me?" Numair asked.

"Don't be so vain, Numair," Alanna replied crossly. She stood up. "It's not you. We have to find Jon. If the Ysandir are on the move, then Jon would be the easiest target. I don't care how much Gift he has in him, he's not going to stop them all by himself."

"But Alanna," Numair interjected. "You're talking blasphemy here. If you know so much about the Ysandir, then you're aware that they are considered gods in their own right. We can't just go around destroying the divinities!"

Zephyrus chuckled. "In Carthak, the Nameless Ones were heroes who ventured out North and led large populations from the western islands and the southern islands to create the lands of the East. They were practically founders and leaders of the Old Ones you Tortallans venerate so much. It was only thousands of years later when they went mad. But most Carthaki folklorists believe these are merely lies told by Eastern Landsmen in hopes of degrading our gods."

"What do you believe, Zeph?" Alexa turned to her friend.

The man scratched his head. "I never cared much either way. Whatever they did and whatever happened to them afterwards was rightly deserved, whether or not they perished."

"Great, so the Ysandir are another set of things to worry about, I suppose," Numair stated. Again, he noticed Alanna lapsing back into silence. Her eyes glazed, and she sneezed a few times, cursing her propensity to detect magic. She turned to Numair. "It's Thom, he's found Jon. But he isn't happy."

Numair snorted. "When is your brother ever?"

The lady knight kicked him.

---

Thom realized they were going in circles. While that knowledge was clearly unwelcome, what irritated him most was that he knew George and the blasted Cat were aware of the demi-god's mistake. And yet neither said anything all this time. Alanna's husband continued to pad along behind Thom with Faithful perched on his broad shoulders, indifferent to the direction they were heading. When they finally landed back to the armory that they'd found hours ago, the sorcerer's temper flared.

"Don't even think about saying it," he said acidly to his brother-in-law.

George's hazel eyes twinkled with amusement, though he kept his face blank. "I wasn't thinkin' of doing so, lad."

The laughter in George's eyes said enough, and Thom turned a shade of red. He was about to retaliate when they heard running down the corridor. As a reflex, Faithful pounced down and hissed softly, his furs on edge. George took out a dagger and wordlessly padded towards the corner walls. Thom ungracefully followed the baron and plastered himself behind him.

It wasn't long before they could hear voices and footsteps approaching the corridor. Thom's arm tingled, his slightly purple Gift slowly ebbing out to form some sort of shield around them. If they were going to have to fight, at least they'd be protected.

"Your Highness," the voice in the corridor said nervously, "Are you sure we should be going back to a place that Count Peldor might still possibly infest?"

"We have nowhere else to go, Myscha," said another voice, a deep, familiar one. He sounded hurried. "And I would rather not go back there, those images were deeply disturbing."

George drew in a breath. He knew that one! Without another word, he put his dagger back inside his pockets and motioned for Thom to let go of the shield. They were in no danger.

King Jonathan of Tortall rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. His face broke into a wide grin as he saw his best friend standing in the corner, grinning back. "Mithros, I thought I'd never see you lot again! Do you know how long it's been since I've been wandering?"

"I suppose just as long as we've been gettin' lost," George replied. "I hope your friend here's more entertainin' than the one I have."

Thom glared at George. "It's not like I enjoyed walking around with you either, Cooper."

"You see what I've been puttin' up with?"

Jon laughed. Then he felt something soft around his leg and he saw a black cat purring beside him. He gasped. "Faithful?"

"We found him sleepin' in the armory," was George's explanation. "He followed us from there."

While Jon bent down and gathered the cat in his arms, he motioned for Myscha to come meet his friends. "This is the younger Tirragen, George."

"Myscha," the baron of Pirate's Swoop nodded with familiarity. "I've heard of you."

Lord Myscha raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

George smiled at him. "I have a very good memory."

"Can't say I've seen you around court before," Myscha drawled cautiously.

"That's because, like his wife the Lioness, George prefers staying outside of the courtly lifestyle," Jon replied. "Anyway, Thom, I need to talk to you."

The king of Tortall pulled Alanna's twin to the side, and he left George to chat with Myscha. Jon was smoothing Faithful's fur as his eyes turned a serious deep blue. "You may think I'm going crazy, but I feel as though I've just walked back into the Black City in the desert."

Thom paled a bit. He waved his hand quickly, trying to prevent Jon to say anymore. "I've been hoping I was wrong about them being here. Now I know why the gods need the power of their mortal Chosen."

"What, they can't fight the Ysandir themselves?"

"You're missing the point, Jon," Thom said. "The gods can't touch the Ysandir. They're siblings in a way, and thus forbidden to harm each other. Only mortals have the chance of defeating—"

_We need them destroyed_, Faithful purred quietly. _Though I do have to say that pitting Chosen against Chosen makes things a bit more difficult. Mithros was being silly when he proposed that bit._

Jon made a face. "And something tells me they've had the chance to grow in strength while they've been here. Brilliant."

The two returned to George and Myscha. Thom nodded to the former King of the Thieves. "I'm going to contact my sister first. She's probably worried about Jon here, and my guess is she's quickly realizing by now what's in store for us."

"What is in store for us?"

"Let me explain," Jon began, just as Thom's Gift ebbed through his fingers once more.

Thom's mind concentrated on the image of his sister scowling at him and projected to her thoughts. What he encountered were a jumble of shapes, most of which were images of black marble upon black marble. He felt her shock and horror about the return of enemies she thought she defeated years ago. _Sister, stop fretting for a few minutes and let me in._

_Thom?_ her mind broke out of her reverie, and her attention turned to the voice inside her head.

_Don't worry about Jon, he's with us now. Come find us, things are getting worse.  
_  
He faintly heard Faithful's loud hiss and was interrupted when the cat dug his claws on his leg, scratching the sorcerer. Startled, Thom quickly severed the connection between Alanna and himself and shook the cat away from his leg. "Blasted...Faithful!"

_Something's wrong._


	10. Disappearance

**Side Note: **Wheeee, writing is getting faster now, with my goal being to finish this fic and another fiction piece by next month! I apologize beforehand if things get slightly choppy or less edited (I usually mean to edit per chapter, but with them being at this length, I can't focus on fanfiction and original fiction the same way xD).**  
**

**Disclaimer** --- While I do wish that I had a hand in writing up the Tortallan universe, we all know that the ever-fabulous Tamora Pierce was its sole creator. So yeah, I don't own these characters. At all.

* * *

**Chapter 10  
Disappearance**

"What do you mean, you've _lost him_?" was the purple-eyed, red-head's shrill reply. "How do you _lose _someone who was standing _right next to you_?!"

Instead of being relieved for finally rendezvousing with the other group, the Lioness was livid. After instructing Thom to stay where he was, she asked Alexa to find a specific portal. To their surprise, something had slowly opened up in front of them, and when the imperial princess felt the magic around the new doorway, she supposed that it would be advisable to step in. It had successfully led them to the very same area currently inhabited by her twin brother.

Except there was one entirely new problem. And it resulted in the lady knight's apparent anger.

The man near Thom—who Alanna didn't even look at once she'd arrived—had already backed away nervously. Even Numair was steadily maneuvering himself and the imperial princess away from the fiery woman, whose fingertips began to glow with a murderous reddish-purple aura.

"Like I said," Thom, his own amethyst orbs wide, indicating that he was also fully surprised by the turn of events. "When Faithful interrupted me, he was warning me from some kind of encasing that was coming between us. Once I broke through, well, a few things were missing. I'm not even sure where the cat went..."

"Thom," his sister said dangerously, "I ask for very little these days. So you need to pay attention to this. _Bring him back_."

"I can't just do that if I don't know where he is!" the demi-god snapped at her. While his sister's explosive temper may have made the rest of her friends shift uncomfortably, Thom was unaffected. He was beginning to show signs of his very own anger, though it would be mildly unleashed compared to his sister's.

Numair caught Thom's glance and tilted his head, indicating that he wanted to talk to him privately. The demi-god gave a slight nod and wheeled his sister around. "There's no point getting angry at me, Alanna. Chances are he's with Faithful, and this is the cat's realm after all. I'm sure the baron can take care of himself."

Alanna shot him a glare before she was shoved in front of Jon. The two sorcerers disappeared into a corner to converse with each other. The lady knight drew a deep breath, but after seeing Jon's sympathetic eyes, she held her temper back. "He was uninjured?"

"As far as we could tell, George and Thom were perfectly fit," Jon told her.

"Want to tell me exactly what happened?"

---

"There should be some sort of warnin' before you pull this kind of stunt," George Cooper, former Rogue of the kingdom of Tortall, said crossly. He was now looking distastefully at a golden-framed mirror. Instead of his reflection, he saw his friends' bewildered looks. On his shoulder, Faithful was hissing angrily.

"Plans changed, Chosen," the Crooked God's muscled shape shrugged indifferently. He offered no apology. "There's a bit of danger, and I'm not keen on losin' such a valuable talent. Not now, anyway."

"Oh?" the baron crossed his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow. "And what, pray tell, do you suppose your siblings have to say about the rest of the people still in that blasted place?"

"Your wife and the rest are not my problem, George."

"If you hope to be gettin' any respect from me right now, I suggest you care a little bit more," was the former thief's cold reply. Faithful nodded in agreement.

Kyprioth chuckled. He passed a hand over the mirror, and the images changed to where Alanna and Numair were standing. George watched his wife's face intently. She was staring far away and briefly her eyes faintly glowed. He could hear her urgently command something from Numair and the vision became hazy. "Did you do that?"

The god smiled. "I'm doing you a favor, Chosen. Stop glaring."

Once the images returned, George found Alanna standing in front of Thom. He watched her turn her head to scan her surroundings, and then mouth "Where's George?" He knew what was coming after that.

"You know, even gods should be wary of a temper like that," George smirked at his wife's enraged outbursts. "I s'pose you can't just whisk her away to safety either?"

_The Goddess wants her there_, Faithful yowled in what George found to be an annoyed tone. _Kyprioth, you should not have taken me along with the Rogue. Not when the Ysandir are involved in this_.

"Ysandir?" hazel eyes began to fill with concern. "They were destroyed. Why are they here now?"

Kyprioth glanced at Faithful and then at George. "The cat didn't tell you?"  
_  
He didn't need to worry any more than necessary_, Faithful replied haughtily. He swished his tail and butted his head on George's neck. _Stop fretting, George Cooper. Our hope is that Alanna and Jon will defeat them again. If you remember, they have the help of three powerful sorcerers_.

"But Ysandir?" there was no helping his confounded questioning. "Kyprioth, why did you pull me out?"

"The less questions you ask, Chosen, the better," was the Crooked God's bland reply. Then he brightened. "Nevermind that, come. I have a wager to collect. And you might as well make yourself useful while you're still in the Immortal Realms."

---

There seemed to be no end to the tantrums that the Lioness was giving them, and Numair did well enough not to approach her at the moment. He looked on as the redhead paced, swearing loudly to anyone or anything that got in her way. The sorcerer knew she was trying to compartmentalize all her thoughts and worries, but in order to calm her, Alanna needed to vent first. At least, that's what Thom practically warned them. He wasn't going to question someone who knew her well. Instead, Numair was letting the storm pass.

"The Lioness is rather remarkable, is she not?" he turned to see the imperial princess smiling, her silver eyes showing the hints of utter amusement.

"Yes, well," he turned back to the woman in question. "I don't suppose it's a good time to tease her. She is worried about her husband, after all. Though I do think Thom's right that he will be fine."

"He is," Alexa replied, her smile widening. "Can you not feel his faint aura? I would not be surprised if he can See us himself. Does he not have the Gift with him?"

It had troubled Numair that she knew so much about George without having met him. Princess Alexa of Danne was truly brimming with Gainel's blessing. In any other time and occasion, he would have liked to get to probe her mind and test her power himself. Unfortunately...

"Perhaps another time," she answered, turning her head to him. "I do agree it isn't very appropriate, with the Lioness distraught."

Red spots emerged onto Numair's cheeks, and he was secretly glad that she couldn't see it. Unfortunately, he may have to guard his thoughts more closely. He coughed onto his sleeve instead and changed the subject. "Do you suppose you can contact him? Through a dream, perhaps?"

Alexa's face became thoughtful. "I suppose I could."

"Don't be daft, Princess," Zephyr scolded her, approaching the two. "You just regained your energy from the last time. Reaching out in this realm will only tax you even more. I don't think you'd be any good to us dead."

The princess pursed her lips. "Honestly, Zephyrus, I am fine."

To prove that she was indeed fit to use her Gift, she placed her hand on Zephyr's bare arm and easily nudged her Gift at him. He yelped and began to rub his arm. Before she could tease him about his surprise, he muttered a word of permission and left them. Alexa laughed.

"But you know," she finally said, "I did try to contact the Lioness' loved one. Whatever force grabbed him, it was not any of the Chosen stuck in the realm."

Numair frowned. "I'm beginning to dread that it might be a Ysandir."

Alexa shook her head. "It did not give off that sort of energy." Suddenly, she stiffened. "But...something that feels like the Nameless Ones is approaching."

They could hear Alanna scuffling towards them, her temper forgotten. Thom and Jonathan, who were carefully watching the lady knight, also hurried towards them. "Time to go!"

"It's a little late for that," a dark voice told them calmly.


	11. Confrontation

**Disclaimer** --- While I do wish that I had a hand in writing up the Tortallan universe, we all know that the ever-fabulous Tamora Pierce was its sole creator. So yeah, I don't own these characters. At all.

* * *

**Chapter 11**  
**Confrontation**

There was no mistaking the red-clawed, pale white visage of the female Ysandir smiling maliciously down at them. Though she hadn't seen her alabaster face in over a decade, Alanna recognized the oldest female Ysandir. Ylanda. The lady knight felt a shiver climbing up her spine, but she suppressed it. She will show no fear.

The two Ysandir stood in front of the Chosen, faint holographic images of their real forms. Ylanda was joined hand in hand by the bearded Ylon, and to haunt the Lioness further, there they were again, Ylon's free hand clenching his double-edged sword, now brightly aflame with terrifying power.

Not one of the Chosen moved, either in fear of the magic displayed in front of them, or in absolute shock at the evil reappearance of foes long destroyed. The beautiful Ylanda laughed.

"The young lion and his little girl knight have grown sprouted!" she said, her voice shrill and raspy. Her fingers reached towards Jon and Alanna. "Come closer, we have been yearning to finally finish our battle with you!"

"No more, Ylanda," Ylon told her, his eyes twinkling in a blaze of hunger. "We do not face them here." He was watching the apprehensive party and grinned maliciously. "The Old Ones cower behind their thrones while they send lowly mortals to do their bidding. Tell me, who truly holds the power to vanquish us?"

"You're still all talk!" Alanna spat out, "We defeated you when we were mere children. We can do it again!"

But she knew, this time it would be more difficult, almost impossible to do so. Inside, the lady knight battled with a sinking feeling, and her brain nagged her about the particulars of her last fight with the Ysandir.

"Foolish girl," Ylon replied, "You used weapons from the Old Ones against us at our weakened states. We have fed upon the Immortal Realms' stream of power. We will not be caught weak again. And you do not have the weapon that so shattered my Maleficar."

To Alanna's side, Jonathan was already grabbing her hand, letting their Gifts mingle to form a barrier. The Lioness also felt Numair and Alexa's intertwined Gifts surrounding them. It was Thom, however, who prevented Alanna from speaking out again, his hand grasping her shoulder firmly. "They're only mere projected images, sister. The Ysandir are here to taunt us. Or perhaps to send a message. Nothing more."

Purple eyes locked fearlessly with the deep, sunken eyes of handsome Ylon. "I propose you get on with it, then. Even Ysandir cannot hold onto their projections for too long. It keeps your bodies unguarded."

Ylanda hissed. "We are not the only Ysandir in the Immortal Realms. Our bodies are tucked away, far from your Old Ones' grasp."

"We've come to spirit her," Ylon said calmly, hardly missing a beat. His intelligent eyes stared at the woman in question, unwavering in his declaration. "We have felt her great power and can taste the strength of her youth. Give her to us and we shall spare you."

Beside Numair, the crown Princess of Tusaine paled, her silver eyes knowingly gazing at the speaker, even in her blindness. She bit her lip and stepped back, pulling the tall, raven-haired sorcerer with her. "I do not wish to return to my frenzy."

Reflexively, Numair placed himself in front of the princess, his face with grim determination. "I don't know about you two, but there are four of us with a tremendous amount of the Gift in our veins. I doubt that would be very fair on your side to fight us."

"So be it," Ylon shrugged, as though it didn't matter to him either way. He pointed his flaming sword at Alexa and muttered a few words.

"No!" it was Thom's voice and tainted Gift that burst forth, turning a light silver as he shielded the Imperial Princess.

Alanna sprang from her position, keeping the panic at bay. If Thom was mortally wounded...

"Stay where you are, Alanna," Jonathan commanded her, gritting his teeth. "They're pushing at our shields, Thom will be fine."

The demi-god's impromptu action did not seem to concern Ylon's incantations. By the strained grip he and his partner showed, however, it was clear that they, too, were trying to keep their images floating at bay. The battle would then be on who tired first.

It was getting worse. Alanna felt Jon's Gift ebbing away. Without the Dominion Jewel or the power of the desert and the Bazhir, the Tortallan King's power was only a third of its full potential, and if the Lioness could feel her own magic dissipate, chances are Jonathan's was slowly depleting as well. Yet she refused to slide down, knowing full well that a sign of weakness would mean victory to their enemies.

She didn't need to hold on for longer, however.

"Of course!" Thom's voice behind the lady knight was drenched in triumphant discovery. "I completely forgot!"

Alanna turned to see the sorcerer pull out a gold chain with a diamond at the end from his robes. The Lioness frowned. "This is no time for fancy trinkets!"

The so-called fancy trinket glowed once more in Thom's hand. After a brief moment, the diamond began to spin, and at its highest speed, it whistled into the air, plummeting towards the shield that held the Ysandir at bay. Ylanda shrieked in surprise, but she stayed her grip on Ylon's hand. The male Ysandir put down his sword, his eyes cold. Without another word, the figures vanished suddenly, leaving the Gifted Chosen in a state of collapse.

Alanna groped her way to a wall and leaned, keeping herself balanced. She glanced at her friends. Numair was placing his arms around a quivering Alexa, pulling her close to his chest. He smoothed the stray hairs away from her face and began to murmur words of comfort to her. The Lioness turned away, half-jealous of the intimacy from the two. It hardly seemed to be an appropriate time for her good friend to be putting on airs of that sort, but she would have probably done the same if her own husband had been there...

"That's being whiny, Alanna," she muttered to herself. There would be plenty of time to do that, once this whole mess was over and done with. The woman turned sharply to Jon, who was being held in place by a shaken Lord Myscha. The lord of Tirragen saw the Lioness's questioning gaze and he nodded, indicating that their sovereign king was still in full health, albeit drained.

Cool fingers touched Alanna's cheek. Thom was briefly examining his sister for any physical abrasions. She frowned at him. "I'm fine, Thom. But what was it you just pulled there? That wasn't your demi-god power returning, was it?"

Alanna's twin shook his head, his face mirroring his sister's puzzlement. "They mentioned the gods' weapons. George and I found a few enchanted ones in the armory earlier, and the diamond necklace took me by surprise then. What you saw when I retaliated could have only been the work of the necklace. I didn't actually think its effects were this positive."

"Think we can find any more useful weapons in the armory?"

"I doubt it. The baron and I looked through the room. Faithful had asked George to pick up a certain sword, though..."

"And conveniently, George isn't here," Alanna groaned. Things were complicated enough, now she'd learned that the one other possible item that could act just as her old Lightning had acted was now in the hands of her missing husband. If anything else was turned to their disadvantage, Alanna was going to hurry the process and make her own grave to climb in.

The Lioness turned once more to her friends. "Is everyone accounted for?"

"All except one," Jonathan's face was solemn, his sapphire blue eyes filled with grim despair. "The Carthaki, the one Alexa called Zephyrus. I'm afraid he's no longer with us."

Alanna paled. Violet eyes swiveled abruptly on the ground, where Alexa was now sinking towards, head bowed in grief. On the floor lay Zephyrus Muhassin Tasikhe, Emperor Ozorne's younger brother, his body lifeless.


	12. Possibilities

**Disclaimer** --- While I do wish that I had a hand in writing up the Tortallan universe, we all know that the ever-fabulous Tamora Pierce was its sole creator. So yeah, I don't own these characters. At all.

* * *

**Chapter 12**  
**Possibilities**

The Crooked God was rather pleased with himself as his crooked and wrinkly sister handed him a highly decorated staff. Kyprioth gave a deep bow of thanks and in turn gave the staff to George, who slightly cringed when he felt the power surging from the end of the object. Faithful silently bent his head towards the staff, breathing air out onto it. Again, like the sword belted to George's side, the staff quieted down, only letting out an occasional hum of power. A rough, callused hand tousled the fur on Faithful's back, and George gave a soft murmur of thanks for the little god's act of consideration.

"Take care of that, Kyprioth," the old goddess, the Graveyard Hag, said, smirking at the Chosen. "The first weapon is already taking its toll on that one. What more with the second one!"

"Not all of the gods' Chosen are steeped with the Gift, sister," Kyprioth replied mildly. "You should know that fully well."

She shrugged. "But as you can see, mine didn't last very long here without the Gift. Though I _could _bring him to life once more and send him back to the mortal realms."

"That would be _cheating_, Hag," the Crooked God retorted. "And you do that often enough as is."

"You cheated by taking him out of the running." Again, the Graveyard Hag's eyes glanced at George.

Kyprioth raised an eyebrow. "I never went as far as entering my Chosen into this so-called contest. Besides, there are bigger things at hand, and I actually am running a few errands from the higher ups. You know, the ones who're asking me to collect a few wagers, as it were."

The banter went on for minutes, but George only half-listened. Faithful was purring to the staff that Kyprioth had retrieved, and the baron noticed that most of what was being said was understandable to him. When the Cat finally did stop, he turned his amethyst gaze at the hazel-eyed man.

_These weapons will help them vanquish the Ysandir_, Faithful informed him. _They have the gods' powers, like the sword Ina, the one the Lioness called Lightning._

George's eyes widened. So there was a way of defeating the Ysandir in the Immortal Realms! But how were they going to get back...?

"Not yet, Chosen," Kyprioth told him. When George looked, the Graveyard Hag had already disappeared. "We need to find one more god before I send you back to your wife and her companions. The Hag only gave us what she would have given her Chosen had she the chance. Except now he's dead. It's best you keep that staff with you."

"Dead?" George frowned. "Which Chosen was this? Surely not the one Thom and I fought off? Thom made sure he was still alive."

"Not him, we've sent that one back to the Mortal Realms. It was the Carthaki emperor's brother," the Trickster God said.

"Zephyrus?!" the former Rogue said, alarmed. "But he was with Alanna and the others. Don't tell me they're—"

Kyprioth shook his head. "Stop fretting, George Cooper. They are all as alive as you. The Carthaki met with an unfortunate situation, and I assure you nobody else was harmed during their brief encounter with the Nameless Ones. So you can rest your worry for another time."

"They encountered the Ysandir?!"

The god sighed and looked at Faithful. "Can you please explain to him that there is nothing to worry about?"

"Kyprioth," George said slowly, gritting his teeth and keeping his anger at bay. "There is a dead Chosen in the Immortal Realms. And yet the gods have done nothin' to punish the offender. Don't you think that's enough cause for concern?"

It didn't seem to be a big deal for the god, however, who merely waved the worry aside. "Zephyrus Muhassin Tasikhe is not my concern. The Graveyard Hag cheated enough to have him included into this game; it was her folly for having him to begin with. Whatever plot she has been working on for years does not stop after one of her Chosen's death."

George looked at his patron god, aghast. When Kyprioth began to move in front of him, the baron followed silently, his eyes not leaving the back of the Trickster's salt and pepper-colored hair. Did his god care for nothing but himself? Were all the immortals like this?

_Not all, George_, Faithful was butting his head on George's cheek. _And do not take Kyprioth's words to heart. He has kept you under his protection, and I'd wager he'd have done the safe to your wife, if the Goddess had not stayed her hand._

"I hope you're right," he told Faithful quietly. "Otherwise I'm thinkin' it's time to sever all ties entirely."

---

"How are you holding up?" Numair had asked Alanna, who sat crouched on the ground. They hadn't moved away from the armory at all, and the lady knight found a few padded leather saddles from inside the room to cushion herself.

Alanna was still pale, but she was calm. She had been talking quietly to Jonathan, who soon went off with the Lord Myscha to scout the area. The Lioness turned her face upwards to look sternly at the sorcerer. "I've felt better. Is she...?"

He shook his head, saddened. "She still weeps next to his body. Though I cannot fathom how it all happened."

"I might be able to," Thom quipped. He had been leaning on the door to the armory, just beside where Alanna had been seated. The demi-god approached the two conversing sorcerers and sighed, scooting into an identical crouching position as his sister. "But this sort of after-effect is almost impossible to experience. The Ysandir might have only been partially here, but their evil magic has its ways of letting a man completely succumb into its depths. This may have been an example of that."

"Zeph...succumbed to their sorcery?" Alanna didn't understand. "But he had been fine when he pulled Alexa out of that fiery mess she became earlier. How was this any different?"

Thom left the conversation in the air as he tried to think. When he next spoke, he was dripping with irritation. "The only other explanation I have isn't very appealing. In fact, it's even more impossible than the last theory."

"You've used the word 'impossible' twice now," Numair said drily, "Forgive me for reminding you that we're in the Immortal Realms. Aren't most things likely to happen?"

Alanna's brother snorted. "Perhaps, but the likelihood of either situation is almost as rare as the goddess of Chaos suddenly becoming partial to universal peace."

"Oh, please. Do enlighten us anyway."

"If you so insist..."

"Alanna, is your brother always this difficult?" Numair asked, his face calm. There was, however, a warning note in his voice, which the Lioness picked up very quickly.

She grimaced. "He was in your head for months. You know him as well as I do."

"I'm here, you know," Thom informed them. When it was clear that both his sister and the Tortallan king's sorcerer were ready to strangle him, he complied, though rather testily. "As I was saying, the other scenario could be the fact that a Chosen is helping them. The Ysandir might not be able to move around in the Realms as freely as they wish, but since you were all summoned here by the gods' will, I'm sure they'd let a few rules slide. A particular someone might have made a pact with the evil beings and is now helping them by trying to kill us off one by one."

Numair was frowning. "Zephyrus died. But that would mean—"

"That any one of us could have knifed the Chosen in the back? Possibly."

"There aren't any physical wounds on Zeph, Thom," Alanna pointed out.

"It was a metaphor," he told his sister calmly. "Most likely the man was killed with the Gift. Any one of the Chosen with possession of the Gift could have had enough power to drain Zephyrus of his life."

There was an uncomfortable silence, and Thom spoke again, his eyes deep in thought and his voice now low enough so it could only be heard between the three of them. "Just how much do you trust the crown princess Alexa?"

"Leave her out of this," Numair suddenly hissed back. "She wouldn't do that. Not to Zeph. Alexa adored him."

"Just thought I'd ask," he glanced over to Alanna, a hint of doubt in his eyes.

The lady knight sighed. "Thom's only being cautious, Numair. I'm sure we're just as highly suspect."

"Actually—" Alanna pinched her brother, who yelped in surprise. "That is, I ahh...there is also the possibility that Lord Myscha is hiding a few of his own secrets."

Numair's eyes flashed dangerously. "Alexa is innocent. Though if you're going to continue discussing this train of thought, I'll let you and Alanna solve this problem. Come to me if you have solid proof." He walked back to the grieving princess.

The Lioness glared at her brother, who was rubbing the sore spot on his skin rather glumly. "You have less tact than a barbarian. What's wrong with you? You can see that he cares for her deeply."

"What's wrong with _you_?" he quipped back. "I was trying to point out that if there _is _someone in league with the Ysandir, then it would likely be Alexa. You did tell me that the monsters drained a bit of her magic. What makes Numair certain that she hasn't been turned to their kind of thinking, too? His feelings need to give way to these possibilities, Alanna!"

There was sound argument to Thom's train of thought, and it made Alanna even more nervous. If her brother was right, then Alexa would be a dangerous foe, and keeping her around might endanger the others. But, what if...

"What if she has no idea she's doing anything wrong?" Alanna murmured.

Thom met her question with a very grim expression. "Then it may be too late for her. The Ysandir might have already tainted her very soul, and she will eventually turn into one of their mindless servants. And for that, you'd better wish that she die in the process instead."


	13. Movement

**Notes --- **The story itself was written primarily as a holiday 2- or 3-chapter present to a friend of mine, which, clearly, turned out a little bit longer than planned. Anyway, I had a bet with said person during the 2010 Vancouver Olympics (has to do with hockey and US vs. Canada _). I...lost the bet, and that resulted in the first half of this chapter. Other than that, some more influences from the _Beka Cooper _series is subtly hinted (though I make sure there aren't any full-blown spoilers), since I'd just recently read _Bloodhound_ and was completely taken by the detail of George's ancestral past.**  
**

**Disclaimer** --- While I do wish that I had a hand in writing up the Tortallan universe, we all know that the ever-fabulous Tamora Pierce was its sole creator. So yeah, I don't own these characters. At all.

* * *

**Chapter 13  
Movement**

Numair Salmalin, formerly Arram Draper, was finding himself in a conundrum. Somehow he had managed to get himself alone with the crown princess of Tusaine, and after his conversation with the red-headed twins, he was muddled with more thoughts than he cared for. This was coming from a sorcerer and a scholar who was used to such a large array of information. Once he sifted through all the concerning details, only one train of thought remained as he looked down at the delicate face that no longer spewed tears of grief for the life lost just moments ago.

He knew nothing could go further with Alexa of Danne. They both had their own responsibilities, and when this whole ordeal ended, so would any connection between them. Politics was never Numair's strong point. He liked his scrolls and his books enough, and if he had to deal with anything regarding foreign dignitaries, it was always in part due to some academic endeavor. Even Alanna the Lioness had more bearing when it came to social occasions, and she hated them with a passion. Numair grimaced when he remembered Carthak.

But that wasn't all. From what he did know of Alexa (and he knew something about the ruling families for each nation, due to his Tortallan king's insistence upon his sorcerer's studies), she was already spoken for since birth. If she ever got back to the Mortal Realms alive, sooner or later she would have to marry the wealthy nobleman picked out for her for the sake of her kingdom's succession. A queen couldn't rule Tusaine, and a commoner was not allowed to taint the royal line.

Marriage for the young man, when he was barely 25, was something he wasn't nearly considering, either. Still, Alexa was a pretty thing, and he couldn't deny feeling that acute attraction to her. He certainly couldn't see any sort of betrayal coming from her, no matter what Thom and Alanna had implied.

"Perhaps we should move away from here, Princess," he began, trying to distract her from the loss of a companion. "It doesn't do to dwell on what's happened. And I'd hate to see you down like this."

Alexa sighed, wisps of her strawberry blonde locks settling lightly all over her face. She undid her braids and fashioned her hair into a ponytail, the ends curling neatly just below her shoulders. "No doubt you are right, Numair. But Zephyrus has been a kind guide. His death was unwarranted."

The sorcerer helped the lithe thing up, careful not to alarm her. Alexa's bright silver eyes were still filled with uncertainty. She looked up, biting her lip.

Before all of the unfortunate events had happened, the crown princess of Tusaine was a confident, cheerful individual. Now, she had been shaken, Numair mused. Maybe it was due to some of her powers being stolen by the Ysandir. Or maybe Zeph's death shook her. Perhaps it was a little bit of both.

"We should go," Numair stooped down, cupping Alexa's face with both hands.

She closed her eyes and nodded. He carefully planted a kiss on each of her eyelids and turned away, only to be interrupted with her own hands grabbing his face. For all her eyes couldn't see what was in front of her, Alexa of Danne did a fine enough job of pulling the swarthy sorcerer in and capturing his lips onto hers.

The two stood interlocked for a long moment, Numair's face turning red as the time passed. But he reminded himself that _she _was the one kissing _him_. His actions, Numair reasoned, were simply returning the favor. Never mind that his hands were now entangled in the back of her hair, or that he was pulling her even closer to his chest.

_Perhaps I should come back another time. You seem to be slightly preoccupied,_ a voice sardonically erupted from his mind. Numair pulled away, surprised and slightly embarrassed. He looked at Alexa, who showed no indication that she'd heard the voice. She merely sighed and let out a faint—and almost crooked—smile.

"Jon and Myscha are back," Thom drawled lazily, his amethyst eyes sparkling with amusement. Just as well that Alexa couldn't see that either. Numair had caught a wicked tinge to them.

He frowned. "Do they bring any substantial news?" The sorcerer was just a little bit irritated that they'd been interrupted.

"My guess, no," Alanna's twin brother shrugged. "But any news is better than no news. And if both of them are still alive, then that's sign enough the Ysandir aren't around here."

Numair sighed. Without another word, he held Alexa's wrist and led her towards Thom, following the demi-god to where the rest of his friends were now congregating.

"Took you long enough," Alanna commented to her brother.

Thom feigned the expression of incredulity and innocence. "I wasn't aware that I was supposed to be in a rush. And I surely didn't want to interrupt the cosy conversation I was privy to."

If there was ever a time Numair wanted to wring his former mentor's neck, it was right now. Instead, he rolled his dark eyes and turned to his king. "Any sign of George at all?"

Jonathan shook his head. "These corridors are damn near impossible to navigate, and twice Myscha and I circled the same area. From the looks of things, though, they all ultimately lead toward the same place, which is here. Are you sure there's no other pathway out of here?"

"Well, we'd only gotten here through portals..." Alanna explained, glancing at the other female. She was unsure with whether or not it was the right time to ask the princess for help.

"It is alright, Sir Alanna," Alexa replied, her face now devoid of sadness. "My Gift is mostly returned to me, and I glimpsed a portal within walls of steel."

"Could she mean the armory?" Myscha suggested. He looked at Jon. "We only waded through the front room, perhaps we're being led to the back. Who knows what sorts of weapons are inside."

"There was that crossbow you used against Count Peldor," Jon stated. "Oh, and the dagger I thought George might want for his collection."

The king of Tortall furnished the weapon in question for his friends. The weapon was tucked beneath his breeches, and once he'd unsheathed it, Alanna whistled. Purple eyes looked at Jon respectfully. "It's a shame he's not here to see that. I've been meaning to get him a new set of daggers as a gift."

Jon grinned. "You can give him this. I really don't mind."

"There is power in that dagger," Alexa told them simply. "A strong essence of the gods lies within. The same found in the brooch carried by Lord Trebond."

"Haven't been called the lord of anything in a long time," Thom lightly muttered, met only by a sharp jab from his loving sister. "Ouch! Okay, so we know these armory objects contain some sort of power. What now? Do we reopen the doors to them?"

"That depends," Numair said. "You lot haven't left unsavory individuals inside, have you?"

Thom gave a slight cough, the look on his face reminded Alanna of their childhood days in Trebond, when Thom was caught stealing one of Cook's freshly baked tarts. "George and I had a scuffle inside the armory, but I assure you, when we checked, there'd been no one left behind. Not inside, anyway."

Alanna looked at her brother with suspicion. "What did you do with whoever you and George fought?"

"Sealed him inside a storage closet," he smiled impishly.

Myscha laughed. "That was quick-thinking. Did you kill him?"

Thom sniffed haughtily. "I'm not stupid. The dishonorable baron almost slit his throat on account of my life being in danger, but I pointed out doing so might incur some god's wrath."

There was no need to further discuss the bond that had tied Thom with Alanna. The Lioness merely nodded grimly, understanding her husband's apparent anger. Once again, she called on a silent prayer to her Goddess, asking her to return George back to the Lioness. It was to no avail, of course, but she had no way of knowing that the Trickster God had his own plans. Instead, the lady knight turned her eyes towards the large steel door. "Well, you heard the crown princess. Time to start looking for that portal."

---

"You want me to do what?" George was so heckled that he almost reverted back to his Lower City speech. It was only remembering his mother's stern face and scolding lectures that prevented him from turning back to the commoner slang Eleni Cooper hated hearing. "And just exactly how am I to do this? Traipse in, unannounced like, and tell the Ysandir they're finished?"

"Something like that, yes," Kyprioth told him, smirking.

George turned to Faithful. "Either the gods have lost their minds or I'm servin' one that never had any sanity to begin with. Why me?"

_They wouldn't be expecting you,_ Faithful yowled in his cat-speech. _And the Trickster didn't really mean for you to go up to them. He wants the Ysandir to feel the power of the gods' weapons. Ina was enough to weaken and destroy their mortal bodies, but the Chosen will have to use more than one to banish them into the Chaos Realms._

"Though, Chosen," the Trickster smiled slyly, "It'd have been fun to see you go up to them to say hello."

"Don't get fresh with me, Kyprioth," George glared. "You offerin' my services to the Black God was pushin' it. Feedin' me to the Ysandir is where I draw the line."

"You serving the Black God wouldn't be too far a stretch, Cooper," Kyprioth shrugged. "But I know you like my entertaining company better, so I haven't quite agreed yet. Do you have everything I gave you?"

The baron of Pirate's Swoop showed him the items that they'd retrieved. The Trickster nodded with approval, and he looked solemnly at his Chosen. "George Cooper, are you willing to once more don the favor of the Trickster and yield to his bidding?"

Like all the other times that he had prayed and answered as a boy in the Lower City and as a man in the Court of the Rogue, George nodded, his hazel eyes turning a shade of green deeper than before. "That I do."

"So mote it be," Kyprioth said, his voice resounding throughout the area. The Trickster God scooped Faithful from the floor and placed him on the baron's shoulders. "Mind him, Cat. And try to keep him from doing anything reckless before they arrive."

Faithful turned his tail up disdainfully, as if to say "I don't need you to tell me that."

George disappeared before he could ask his god who "they" were.


	14. Battle

**Notes --- **Actiooon! Or an attempt of one. The whole mist thing below is owed to my previous story "The Gate of Idramm", which has an inordinate amount of mist for a good portion of the fanfic, heh.**  
**

**Disclaimer** --- While I do wish that I had a hand in writing up the Tortallan universe, we all know that the ever-fabulous Tamora Pierce was its sole creator. So yeah, I don't own these characters. At all.

* * *

**Chapter 14  
Battle**

Purple eyes blinked uncertainly at the scene before her. Alanna had volunteered to go into the portal first, and she was the one who'd taken in the sights before anyone else could. She could hear her friends asking if everything was okay, but the tugging feeling within the lady knight was egging her onwards. Compulsion took over, and she stepped forward, forgetting to let the others know what she was doing.

The terrain was difficult to travel in, and it was hardly visible through all the mist. Mist. Why was there more mist? It seemed to be the gods' idea of a joke, Alanna thought.

It was getting colder, and the Lioness' head began to spin. She tried to turn, and to her alarm, she found that she couldn't. What was happening? Alanna attempted to yell for help, but that wasn't working either. Instead, she moved onward, her feet involuntarily dragging her to what she dreaded was the ultimate trap.

"Damn that woman!" Thom spat out. He and Jonathan had run through the portal in unison. After having called out Alanna's name multiple times with no response, they had gotten suspicious, and it was decided that they'd send another two in. A powerfully sinister aura crept through the area.

"Mist. Again?!" Jon muttered, the memory of their adventures in Carthak still fresh in his mind. "This can't be good."

"Jon, I can't feel her anywhere," the lady knight's brother said, his voice low and on the brink of panic.

They heard the sound of hurried footsteps from behind and found that Numair, Myscha, and Alexa all came through. The silver-eyed girl sighed and tried to explain their lack of caution. "These two were worried and a little nervous on the other side. I suggested we all just pass through. There is something to say about safety in numbers, I must admit."

Myscha shivered. "Fog's setting in. How do you see in this blasted place?"

Black flames erupted from Numair's free palm. He pointed his Gift towards the mist and let the fires engulf them. They watched as the black gave way to a clearer, more translucent screen. Before they knew it, the mist thinned out to show the uneven terrain. There was, however, no lady knight in sight. Numair scowled. "She can't have gone that far so quickly. Thom, surely you can still feel her presence."

For a long moment, there was no answer from the red-headed demi-god. He bit his lip, and after the pause, shook his head. "I...I've lost her."

The cavern was dark and musty. A lone purple fireball followed the Lioness into the cave, the only bit of the Gift she could have mustered now. Even as her feet took her well inside the engulfing darkness, she was feeling the need to close her eyes and rest. Instead, Alanna remained as alert as possible. There must be some way to break free of this terrible force that was gripping her.

There! She could feel the unknown power falter, and she took that chance to pounce. With the reserve of her Gift, her purple aura set her body on fire. It was a different fire from what Alexa had ignited before. This magic protected and healed her. She only hoped she could last long enough to get out and find her friends.

Alanna could feel the darkness fighting to catch her again. The Lioness clenched her fists, amethyst eyes ablaze with determination. Slowly, she turned and began to take a step back towards the cave's exit.

A tall, lean-muscled figure stood at the opening, the shadow covering his face. He stretched his hand, and a yellowish sliver of the Gift streamed from his palms. In one quick instant, the Gift rushed towards Alanna, and the lady knight stumbled backwards, landing on the ground, her aura disappearing just as quickly. She swore loudly, frustrated at another obstacle in her way.

"I suggest not moving, Lioness," the man told her, his voice dripped with a wicked amusement. "You're only delaying the inevitable."

"Goddess burn you for this!" she hissed at him, reaching for the sword that she'd found at the armory. Alanna closed her hand on the sword's hilt and pulled it out. Even in the dark, she could still fend off attacks. All she needed was the slightest hint of movement and sound.

The man chuckled. "A fight in the dark, lady? I know your prowess is legendary, but not even you can best an expert swordsman flailing like that."

His statement was followed by the drawing of steel, and Alanna knew that he had unsheathed his own sword. The dim light of the cave grew larger when the lady knight's assailant moved closer. If only she could push him back towards the light...

With no warning, the man lunged at her. She met the tip of his sword with the hilt of hers, just quick enough to sidestep him. It wasn't so easy to move inside the narrow cave, though, and it was harder still to try to get behind him into the light. The man had known her plan from the beginning, and he moved just as swiftly as she did. Alanna guessed that he was one of the Chosen, and in any other circumstance, she might have respected him as a swordsman.

Both fighters ambled to better maneuver themselves, and once or twice they'd stumbled onto rock, only to get up as swiftly as they could. Alanna was so practiced in her drills and knowledgeable enough to know the limitations of the cave that she was able to anticipate her attacker's moves.

The tall man was a fantastic swordsman, but the Lioness felt him beginning to tire. They were both overreaching their strengths, but Alanna had made sure to keep her movements to a minimal. All she needed now was one more stumble...

She found it half a minute later, just as he took a step back towards the light. Alanna let out one triumphant yelp and swooped in for the final blow.

Alanna's attacker dropped his sword, and he crumpled to the ground. The coppery redhead stooped over the man's body and checked his breath. Satisfied that he was only unconscious, she sheathed her blade and moved towards the entrance of the cave. The lady knight wasn't sure how she managed to make it back out without being pulled in by whatever it was that lived in the darkness.

"Goddess, you must have blessed me today," she uttered her prayer of thanks. She felt slightly empty, but Alanna knew that she'd get her Gift back sooner or later. In fact, it might be a temporary advantage; nothing magical would be able to control her easily enough for the moment. The lady knight limped outside and found a seat just beside the cave. She remained stationary, pondering what she should do next.

It turned out that the Lioness didn't have to think for too long.

"Mithros be praised!" a relieved Jonathan exclaimed. He was waving at her at a distance. Behind him were Thom, Myscha, Alexa, and Numair.

She returned his greeting, albeit rather weakly. Thom was already rushing to her side. He hugged the air out of her, and she giggled despite the sore muscles. "Thom, I'm fine. You can let go now."

"He was promising Shakith and any other god who'd listen that if he saw you again, he wasn't letting go," Numair said behind the demi-god. "Still, I don't blame him, we're all feeling the same kind of relief, you know."

Alanna blushed. She untangled herself from her brother and sat back down. The Lioness pointed towards the cave. "There's a man taking a nap near the entrance. I'd drag him back out, but I'm tired. Best be wary, though."

Jon chuckled and beckoned to Myscha to come with him. The two disappeared inside the cave. Thom raised an eyebrow. "Were you fighting, sister?"

"Like I had much of a choice," she leaned back, the stone cooling her heated skin. "It was either that or have my innards splayed all over the rocks. He meant business, that one. How did you find me?"

"No thanks to your panicky brother, I'll tell you that much," Numair piped in, leading Alexa to sit beside the lady knight. Thom shot the king's sorcerer a glare, and the tall man grinned in reply. "He'd kept repeating that he couldn't sense you, over and over again. The dear princess here had to slap some sense into him."

"You didn't!" Alanna exclaimed, surprised.

Alexa hung her head, reddening. This was the first time that the lady knight had seen the girl blush. "I was sorry to do it, but I needed him to stay logical."

"I don't have the Sight as strong as she does," Thom explained, ignoring the smirks his sister and the king's sorcerer were shooting at him. "But she couldn't track you down either, not without a sort of object to trace you. Fortunately, I can still conjure your shield at will."

He did so just at that moment, letting the shield hover in mid-air. He waved his hand again and the lioness rampant disappeared. "Luckily for us, you also used your Gift at some point, which increased the trace."

The imperial princess nodded. "Lord Thom is a very gifted mage, Sir Alanna."

"And I am not?" Numair tried to sound offended.

"You can't really compete with a demigod, you know," Thom winked at him.

"I beg to differ."

The king and the lord of Tirragen were carrying the ends of Alanna's assailant outside, placing him on the ground. Jon sighed with relief. "No doubt about it. It's Count Peldor."

Myscha looked at Alanna with wonder. "You'd fought him? Without knowing he had leeching spells ready?"

Alanna made a face. "I didn't really have much of my Gift left to be worrying about leeching spells. It might take weeks for me to recover, I spent most of my energy warding off whatever it was that dragged me here."

"And fighting Peldor."

"I suppose."

The lord shook his head, still amazed. "It's no wonder she's your Champion, Highness."

Jon chuckled.

"Now that we're all nicely situated outside of where the Ysandir might be, anyone have some course of action?" Numair asked, returning the others to the problem at hand.

Alanna groaned. With all that just happened, she had almost forgotten about the Ysandir.


	15. Shadows

**Notes --- **I admit, I have a soft spot for the former Rogue, and he's SO MUCH FUN writing!**  
**

**Disclaimer** --- While I do wish that I had a hand in writing up the Tortallan universe, we all know that the ever-fabulous Tamora Pierce was its sole creator. So yeah, I don't own these characters. At all.

* * *

**Chapter 15  
Shadows**

George waited for his vision to adjust in the darkness. Kyprioth had placed him in the middle of some dark, cavernous tunnel, and it took a good deal of time to focus his eyes to the path before him. Thin light passed through tiny cracks on the walls, traveling and in turn disappearing as it touched the tunnel surface. There were so very few of these sheaves of streaking light, however, that it was still too difficult to make out anything completely. The baron checked his possessions to make sure that they were still undamaged.

Beside him, a purple-eyed cat yowled with displeasure. _Gods. Always the need for ostentation._

"You complain much about them, for all you're one and the same," George replied in a soft whisper.

_There's a distinct difference between myself and the likes of Kyprioth._ Faithful haughtily sauntered off ahead of the former Rogue. _Come, it can't be that far._

"Slow down, Faithful," George told the cat, knowing full well that the immortal being can hear his whisper from yards away. "I can feel the tinglin' down my spine. And I don't like that feelin'."

It was true. Though his Gift wasn't particularly strong, he could feel the tunnel itself vibrating with large quantities of menacing power. He'd felt this a few times before, and those had been major obstacles in the past. Twice it had involved one sorcerer out for power. The last time...well, Carthak was the least of his worries now.

George made sure that the sword was still belted to his side and the staff firmly placed behind him (he'd neglected to ask Kyprioth if there was a way to carry the staff without actually _carrying _it, like he'd seen Numair do a few times before). The last object—the one the Crooked God had told him to conceal within his body, was tucked neatly beneath the folds of his tunic. Satisfied that it was still in place, he set out after the Cat, carefully treading through the tunnel.

There was one advantage to Kyprioth having given his Chosen this responsibility. Even the gods would have a hard time hearing his footsteps in the uncanny silence.

* * *

The first thing that warned George that he was not alone was the blatant argumentative voices floating through the hollow canvases of the cave. It wasn't far off, though he couldn't exactly hear what the angry voices were going on about. Just a few yards off, Faithful stood on edge, the hairs on his back bristled with tension.

_Careful, George Cooper,_ Faithful told him. _These are the lesser Ysandir, but it is still advisable not to be seen as of yet._

As if George needed any more reason to remain in the shadows. Slowly, he made his way to where Faithful climbed and stayed there, honing his ears to listen in on the argument ahead.

"...will bring us to complete ruin," one voice, a female, hissed. "The great queen protected us to complete our task. What they are planning is utter madness!"

"Careful not to have reason to quarrel with them, Ylira," this one was male, his voice deep and thunderous. He barely raised his voice, but George felt every word he spoke contained a hint of warning to the woman. "We do as we are ordered."

"Must we follow blindly?! Do you remember the utter ruin Ylon and Ylanda have led us to? Imagine a young lion and a girl playing knight defeating us with flimsy weapons and their weak Gifts!"

The man replied in a low murmur, something that even George couldn't hear. But it must have been an insult, because the female Ysandir began to screech.

"How dare you! HOW DARE—" another voice erupted from further down into the cavern, cutting the female's objections short. George couldn't exactly understand what was being said; perhaps they had switched to a different language, an older, more profound one. He nudged Faithful. "Do you understand them?"

The cat's tail swished from side to side, but he remained silent. Within minutes, the two Ysandir had returned to their post, though the conversation had stopped. Faithful turned his purple eyes at Kyprioth's Chosen. _This is where we part ways, George Cooper._

George nodded, his stomach wrenched with apprehension. He knew what he was supposed to do, but it still gave him the chills that he'd be the one with the responsibility. And he couldn't very well ignore his god's calling after all these years of servitude. Without another word, the baron of Pirate's Swoop crept through the shadows, awaiting Faithful's diversion.

With an air of pride and vanity, Faithful trumped off towards the direction of Ylira and her male companion. From where George hid, he could glimpse the Ysandir, who were standing in front of a passage, hand in hand, their figures emanating a faint, glowing aura. The female was dressed in a long, sultry red gown. Her face was pale and beautiful, but for the ugly sneer plastered after having noticed the overconfident cat coming up to them. Ylira's male companion was a thin, wiry-looking man; his face was also remarkably unblemished and as youthful as the woman whose hand he was holding. The man's robes were a dark grey, and they clung loosely around his thin body. George took in their appearances and committed them to memory. He knew he'd be facing one of them in the end, from the looks of things.

"What is the likes of you doing in the Divine Realms, little kitten?" Ylira spat out, contemptuous. "Do you come with an army of constellations before you? Or perhaps your dear masters and mistresses?"

"Ylira," the man said, turning to her, a bemused look on his face. "The little cat knows he cannot summon up an army to find us. The princes and princesses must do it on their own, and none of them dare venture forth into the Chaos vents. Not without reason."

George shivered when he heard this. So this was where they were hiding? The Chaos vents? Then they were at the entrance to the Chaos Realms. There weren't very many stories about this Realm, but when he was living in the Lower City, he had heard oaths muttered about this place. As the Rogue of Corus, he was dealt a fair share of curses from the Rats disloyal to the Court of the Rogue. Often they let out a string of expletives damning him and his mother to the Chaos Realms as he ordered their ears cut off. They never got very far after they'd insulted his mother.

Whether or not Faithful replied to the Ysandir's statements was unknown to George, who didn't hear anything from the Cat. It was odd that the two beautiful creatures felt no inkling to want to attack the feline, but if anything, George knew not to let his surprises get in the way of what he ought to do. He steeled himself after what was about to come next.

Ylira was shouting, surprise etched onto her face as the cat lunged at her robes and began scratching her. Caught unawares, the Ysandir made the most fundamental of mistakes—something George and Faithful were counting on to happen.

She let go of her companion's hand.

There was a rushing sound at the severance of Ysandir magic. The entrance—the one George had been meaning to slip through—was unguarded as the male Ysandir tried to wrestle Faithful's strong grasp away from beautiful Ylira. _Now while you still can, Chosen!_

George didn't wait for the sentence to end before he began moving. Using the cave's dark shadows, he sidled his way just behind the Ysandir. Ylira and the male were distracted to the side, an elementary mistake that the baron would have severely punished his thieves for making. He shot a crooked grin at the cat, knowing full well that Faithful was too distracted to see it. Then he slipped through, blending into the darkness.

* * *

The big problem that faced Alanna and her friends was the attempt at scrambling through the tunnels without falling and impaling oneself onto piles of sharp rock. Things grew more difficult when the caves were clearly not designed for people over six feet. Jonathan couldn't help but chuckle at Numair's obvious discomfort after an hour of trekking through with his head bowed. He noticed the others weren't having the same type of trouble. Even Thom and he were just the right height to pass through.

Fortunately for the raven-haired sorcerer, the ceiling of the caves began to rise slightly as they moved further. It was only a matter of time before he was finally standing straight, to his apparent relief.

The only other problem lay in the lack of light inside the cave. Thom's reddish-purple Gift and Jon's sapphire blue lit the front and back of the group cluster. It was still inadequate to see too far ahead. All of them had traveled in silence; most conversation took place in their heads. It was a useful skill, though perhaps it was easily managed because they were in the Immortal Realms.

When they managed through a slightly larger chamber, they stopped. Thom was already spelling the exit and entrance to the chamber shut so they could rest for a few minutes.

"It looks like some sort of struggle occurred here," Alanna murmured, examining the ground. "A magical one at that. Somebody's been scorched."

"Can you tell if it's someone we know?" Numair inquired. It was his way of asking if she could tell whether it was George or not. He didn't dare mention the possibility of his mortal peril outright.

The lady knight shook her head. "I'd considered that, but this was a smaller target." She was pointing at the burnt spot, her stoic gaze turned towards the opening nearby. "Either the creature was burned, or it managed to escape. Whoever was around here must be long gone through the rest of the caves by now."

Those who knew Alanna well enough also knew that trying to comfort her now would only embarrass her. She always tried so hard not to succumb into despair and mourning. There was a moment's pause, and he had hesitated, but Jon came forward and hugged the Lioness around her shoulders. She tried to shrug it off, but he was adamant, so she merely stood there, reddening at the touch of concern on her king's face.

"Alanna," Numair said, watching her carefully.

"Yes?" she replied, refusing to turn her head, for fear that the rest might see the tears she was dreading would fall from her violet eyes.

"We'll find him."


	16. Chances

**Notes --- **I have realized that most of my chapters (minus the recent two) lost the "---" formatting between scenarios, which kind of irked me. I'm not sure if I want to go through the entire trouble of putting the formatting back for the previous chapters. Maybe I'll fix them when the entire story is over. Or maybe I'll just do a few more edits on the LJ version of my story.**  
**

**Disclaimer** --- While I do wish that I had a hand in writing up the Tortallan universe, we all know that the ever-fabulous Tamora Pierce was its sole creator. So yeah, I don't own these characters. At all.

* * *

**Chapter 16  
Chances**

Baron George Cooper of Pirate's Swoop had absolutely no recollection of how he managed to make his way down to the secret lair of the Ysandir. In fact, if he was asked days later to relate the tousle that was about to happen down in those dark caves, even his good memory would have failed him. Everything had become a blur, much like the attack at the palace in Corus.

What George did remember was that his head ached for weeks on end, his body was littered with unseen bruises, and his hands were still recovering from burn marks. He had only been lucky to survive through the care of expert healers (and perhaps help from the heavens).

But he had no way of knowing what lay ahead as he continued further into the gloom. Once past a particular point, Kyprioth had warned him that he would be open for the Ysandir to see. George only hoped that he could buy enough time for the rest of his friends to get there.

The Ysandir were seated in a circle. There were thirteen of them spread out; protecting what appeared to be two sleeping bodies placed at the center, hands intertwined. Like Ylira and the other Ysandir before, these beings had angelic faces. Had George not known about the ill-will they bore, he might have been enchanted enough to leave them be. He needed to rid the circle of its powers if his friends stood any kind of chance.

_"They need thirteen to keep Ylon and Ylanda where they are," Kyprioth had explained to him before. "Get rid of that power, and their defeat is more feasible."_

More feasible. To him, that guaranteed nothing. But he had to try anyway. In the end, it would be Alanna and Jon who would have to finish what they started once and for all. And if he can make anything easier on his lass, he would be more than happy to oblige.

A faint whispering emerged from where the two slept, pervading into the room like the sound of a lingering bell. "Beware, brothers. Beware, sisters. He comes with their weapons."

The outer-circle Ysandir hissed violently. A few actually swiveled their heads, in search of this 'he'. Any lesser man would have cowered and fled at the sight, but George stood his ground. He took a deep breath and watched as the Nameless Ones searched for their intruder.

Behind the former Rogue, the staff grew warm. When it began to glow, he scrambled to unhook it from his back and held himself in a guarding position. George steadied the long staff before him, pointing it at an angle. If he was going to ruin the circle, he might as well take down as many of the lesser Ysandir he could with the staff Kyprioth gave him.

_"Shijo will do the trick," Kyprioth nodded at the object he had collected from the Graveyard Hag. "The staff of death."_

George didn't even need to do any tinkering with the staff himself. Unlike Lightning, this object of the gods so hated the presence of the Ysandir that it breathed a life of its own. It took a bit of effort for George to keep the staff positioned in one direction, and even more of an effort to hold it until all of its power manifested at the tip. The staff pleaded to be released, but George's hands tightened.

One of the Ysandir faced George. He raised both his arms, and instantaneously, George's fingers began to tremble. The baron grit his teeth and planted his feet steadily on the rocky surface of the caves. Just a little bit more...

He let the staff loose, just as the Ysandir slammed magical force down on the unfortunate baron. Like one of his knives, the staff whistled through the air, colliding into three Ysandir. The females shrieked and disappeared before his eyes. Meanwhile, the light emanating from Shijo burst, and the staff was rendered useless.

_"I will not be able to accompany you to where the Ysandir lurk. So once you've broken the circle," Kyprioth's voice was solemn. "Run. Do you understand? Run!"_

George stumbled backwards, groggy from the magic that hit him and the backlash of the staff's energy. His hands were numb. Once the baron regained his footing, however, he turned around to follow the last set of instructions given by the Trickster.

Hope dropped when he spotted the stunning red robes of Ylira as she stood at the cavern's only exit. He saw the anger in her beautiful eyes. He saw the slender hand pointed at him. And he watched, unmoving, as a burst of light shot forth from the tip of the Ysandir's finger.

There was nothing else that George Cooper could remember from the events after he'd gotten caught. Only that he heard his mouth give out a most excruciating scream.

* * *

It was this scream that sent Alanna furiously speeding ahead, her eyes filled with the coldest rage she could ever have mustered. She heard Thom's warning cries behind her, but she ignored them. If her friends weren't going to follow, then she'd have to do it alone.

Jon had already gone after her, Myscha following soon after. Alexa, however, had pulled Numair back. "You and Lord Thom should let them go. It is not our time to follow them. Not yet."

Thom raised an eyebrow but questioned nothing. Numair, however, was frowning. "If this is some sort of 'destiny,' I'm not very fond of it. Alanna is one of my dearest friends. And I owe George a great deal. You'd have to give me a better reason than destiny to prevent me from going after them."

The imperial princess's calm face turned away from Numair. Instead, she felt for the robes of the other sorcerer. "Please explain to him, Lord Thom."

"I'm afraid she's right," Thom said, though his face was sorry that he couldn't run after his twin sister. "Chances are the Ysandir are already on the move. We'd only get in the way, with the amount of Gift we have. I think your lady-friend also Saw something, didn't you, Alexa?"

Alexa nodded. She gripped her hand on Numair's wrist. "Please trust me."

Numair sighed. He hoped, more than once, that he wasn't just listening to her because he cared.

* * *

"George!" Alanna was horrified to see her husband lying helplessly on the ground. Near him stood two Ysandir with their arms outstretched; the light of their dark magic overflowed onto the baron's limp body.

The Lioness rushed to his side, only to be thwarted by the Ysandir standing over him. She managed to keep her balance with Jon's help, who was already at her side. The Tortallan king's eyes blazed a deep blue, and he let the Lioness go, charging towards the male Ysandir. Without using his Gift, the tall, raven-haired king slammed into his target, breaking the barrier holding George captive.

Once again, the lady knight hurried to the baron, who was slowly regaining consciousness. He was shaking as he tried to get up, and when he opened his mouth, a quiet, hoarse voice emerged. "Alanna?"

"You're alive!" she fought the tears away from her eyes. She'd been holding them back for hours, the Lioness would be damned if she lost it then and there! Instead, she tried to help him stand.

"No, please," he grabbed her hands and pulled them to his chest. "This is more important."

But whatever it was he tried to say would have to wait. A large roar had erupted from where Jon was, and Alanna remembered where she was. Cursing, the Lioness let George's hand go and turned to find her king, who was still wrestling the thin, male Ysandir down. The second Ysandir, a woman, was already struggling against Myscha, who had easily caught up behind his king. The others in the circle were starting to break free from their magical hold, and it would only be a matter of time before all of the Ysandir would overtake them.

She paled at the thought of being surrounded, helpless and alone. Alanna unsheathed her sword, but she found that George was pressing his own weapon at her side. The lady knight turned. "I've already got a sword."

"Alanna," he was still weak and groggy, though there was great determination in his hazel eyes. "Take this one. I'd be happier knowin' you've got a weapon blessed by the gods."

"But—"

"Don't argue," he interrupted. For a brief moment, she could see a bit of the old George coming back. He was grinning, even despite the obvious pain he was in. "For once, keep quiet and listen."

A part of her almost growled at being commanded in that way, but it was just a small reflex. They were in a crisis, after all. The baron of Pirate's Swoop grabbed his tunic and began pulling it away from his breeches. Alanna couldn't help but widen her eyes. "What...what are you doing?"

Once he'd finished unrolling the bottom half of the tunic, a small stone was resting neatly on his palm. It was slightly larger than Alanna's pendant, but no bigger than her fist. The stone glowed a deep, red-orange color. The light from it was getting brighter and brighter, and George closed Alanna's hand over it. "Ky—Faithful said it's the twin stone to the Dominion Jewel. Only this one is owned by the Black God."

Alanna shivered slightly, but her grip was steady around the stone. She nodded and momentarily gave her husband a hug. Without lingering for too long, the Lioness let go, smiling. "I'm getting you out of here."

"Not a chance," his face was set. "I'm not leavin' you when all hell's about to break loose."

"Yes you are," she told him adamantly. "And you don't argue this time."

The woman Ysandir that Myscha had been struggling with was now getting the upper hand. Her claws had grown longer, and she was just about to dig her weapons into Myscha's eyes when the red-headed lady knight slammed her to the side with the blunt edge of her newly acquired sword. George watched in awe as the weapon began to sing with triumph, Ylira quickly fading away into dust.

"Are you alright?" Alanna asked Myscha.

The lord of Tirragen nodded. "Thanks."

"Myscha, I need a favor."

George opened his mouth to protest. He had a feeling he knew what this favor was about. Alanna silenced him. Her purple eyes were still focused on the stocky Tirragen lord. "Can you get George out of here? This fight is mine and Jonathan's. You and he shouldn't get in the middle of things."

"I don't know, Alanna," Myscha said, doubt in his dark brown eyes. "Jonathan is my king, too. I couldn't just abandon him when I should be protecting him as well."

"You'll be protecting _him_," Alanna pointed to her husband. "Just get out."

The tone in which she uttered those words were too demanding to be disobeyed. Myscha sighed. "Help should be on the way. You and Jonathan may be formidable, but by the look of things, when the rest of the Ysandir break free of that circle, not even the two of you will be able to stop them."

"I'll take my chances," the Lioness replied stubbornly. "Go!"

There was a resounding crash. Everyone turned to the source and saw Jonathan panting heavily. The thin Ysandir had crumpled against the wall, unmoving. The king of Tortall had come out as the victor.

But that had been the final trigger.

Within moments, the Ysandir in the circle began to stand. Jonathan was already positioning himself into a defending stance, a technique he had learned studying from a Shang warrior. Alanna turned to stand by her king's side, pushing past George and Myscha.

"Goddess be with you both," George muttered before he was half-carried, half-dragged by the shorter, more muscled Myscha. The baron would have complained about the ill-treatment, but he could feel himself already slipping back into unconsciousness. The last glimpse he had was the blaring of deep orange, as Jonathan's hands joined with the Lioness's in order to battle with the Ysandir...

* * *

"Now."

"Can we?"

"Would you rather we wait a little longer?"

"Oh. In that case...come on!"

There was a shuffling of hurried feet as three powerful sorcerers headed towards the heat of battle.


	17. Clash

**Notes - **Winding down sloooowly! I'm going to miss this story...**  
**

**Disclaimer** - While I do wish that I had a hand in writing up the Tortallan universe, we all know that the ever-fabulous Tamora Pierce was its sole creator. So yeah, I don't own these characters. At all.

* * *

**Chapter 17  
Clash**

One thing Alanna worried extensively over was that she was useless if her Gift wouldn't return to her quickly. Against the Ysandir, all she could do now was hang onto Jon's firm hand as he chanted under his breath, letting his blue aura mix with the orange expelling from the jewel.

Still, she couldn't help feel the sense of déjà vu as she gripped the sword on her free hand. It was the same as last time, only the place differed. Ylon and Ylanda had started to waken just as George and Myscha left the premises. Their Ysandir siblings were towering over the oldest of the Nameless Ones, their beautiful figures grand and menacing. They were eyeing the two Tortallans warily, remembering their doom years before, and the sword gleaming from the lady knight's hand glowed of the same power. This sword was hungry as well, though not for the Gift; rather, its purpose for existence was to seek out and destroy its enemies. Alanna felt the vibrant energy coursing through her, and she found that, just this once, perhaps she _could _muster her Gift after all.

Focusing on the two leaders, Alanna refused to leave her gaze upon Ylon, who at that moment, was walking towards her. His sword, now aflame, seethed with anger, the same violent anger that coursed through his own veins. Ylanda followed her male counterpart, holding his hand, face in deep concentration. The other Ysandir dispersed, forming a circle around the pair of fighters.

"It has come to this again, mortals," Ylon said in his deep, booming voice. "This time I will show you the real powers of a fit Ysandir."

"Because you clearly couldn't when we were mere children," Jonathan threw back, his stunning features shooting a challenge at equally handsome Ylon.

Ylanda bared her teeth at him, "Roar all you want, young lion, but you're still a cub in terms of years. Shall we begin by tearing your lady-love apart first? Or would you rather we start with you?"

Jonathan stood his ground without saying anymore. This was an older, wiser king now, not the arrogant, hot-headed teenager that Alanna had to begrudgingly accompany to the Black City. He wasn't going to let them bait him into a temper tantrum; Jon fully knew the cost of the magic that was coursing through him. Instead, he fueled all the tension, anger, and anxiety down to the strong grip he was giving his Champion.

Ylon took that moment to begin his attack, swinging his sabre ferociously down on the redheaded lady knight. Alanna blocked him, her arm going numb from the pressure. She quickly pulled away, dragging Jon with her. The male Ysandir was much bigger than she was, but this never stopped the Lioness before. Why should it be any different against a so-called immortal?

She took the initiative this time and pounced, her sword flashed to the side in an attempt to catch Ylon off-guard. He had been ready for it, however, and he responded by pressing his weight against hers. Dark power surrounded him, and Alanna fought the flames within the Ysandir's sword with her amethyst Gift.

Something else happened afterward that put Alanna at a momentary panic.

In a last-minute change, Ylon and Ylanda had parted ways.

Alarmed, the lady knight steadied herself and lunged backwards, narrowly avoiding a move that might have mortally wounded her otherwise. Jonathan's forehead was beaded in sweat. "Alanna, they're sustaining themselves without help from each other. We might have to take them down one by one."

Just as the king of Tortall released Alanna's hand, he made for Ylon. Alanna, however, had other things in mind. She placed herself in front of Jon, both hands now gripping the sword, which was glowing blue and purple. "No, Jon. Ylon's mine. And you know it."

She didn't give Jonathan much choice as she charged, the steel of her weapon crashing into his. Alanna didn't know whether Tortall's sovereign had moved towards Ylanda, her full attention was now focused on Ylon. The Ysandir's face broke into a wide grin, a sense of triumph sparkling in his dark eyes.

"You will regret this decision," he roared with laughter. "For what can a mere girl achieve against me, the oldest and strongest of the Ysandir?"

The Lioness wasn't listening anymore. She thought about the involuntary journey to where she was now, of those who were hurt in the game that the gods played, and of the beginning of the entire ordeal itself. Alanna's mind spun backwards. She found herself lingering in the memory of Pirate's Swoop, the storm ravaging her windows until she closed them. She'd gone out into the rain that night, in hopes that she would catch a glimpse of the baron riding through the storm to come home...

It had been that memory, that stolen moment, which made Alanna realize she was not only fighting to serve her Goddess. The Lioness was fighting to prove Ylon wrong. She was fighting for her friends, her king, her world. She was fighting for the man that she finally agreed to marry and hoped would emerge safely out of this mess. She was fighting for herself, to prove once and for all that while the gods may pick their Chosen as they please, she was not to be toyed around with, mortal or no.

In that split second, as she parried another blow from the Ysandir, the sword in her hands became icy cold. The sharpened tip at the end of the blade was covered in frost. Within another moment, her sword brightened, and Ylon had to shield his eyes from the light that emerged. Pieces of the ice broke off Alanna's sword and quickly circled around the Ysandir's fiery weapon. Frozen particles suddenly plunged towards the flames, extinguishing them.

Alanna didn't hesitate. The Ysandir was overconfident and once again, this particular Fire-Hair was going to vanquish him with the sword created just to fight his kind. Futilely, Ylon blocked again, knowing that if he didn't act now, he'd lose.

"To me, Ysandir!" he yelled out at last.

Broken from their trance, the rest of the Ysandir swarmed towards Alanna in response to their leader's cry for help. The lady knight didn't care if she was going to be torn apart by the mob, so long as she took Ylon down with her...

Purple, black, and forest green flames erupted from behind the startled Ysandir, pushing them away from the fighting in the middle of their circle. Alanna quickly turned and watched as three figures from the cavern entrance were unfurling their powers and magically dragging the lesser Ysandir away.

"Take care of him, Alanna!" Numair yelled out, just before one of the Ysandir went at him with a rather dangerous-looking staff. He covered himself and the attacking Ysandir in black smoke, disappearing behind it.

Thom was already defending himself and the imperial princess with his expert shield magic, his free hand twisting balls of purple lightning to his will. Alexa unleashed the very power that had so put her in a frenzied state a day or two before. Except now she was in control, and she set the flames towards those that were rushing against her.

Ylon screamed in utter fury, and he lunged again, his whole body behind the strike. The Lioness blocked once more. The full strength of the Ysandir's hit had repercussions. After the strike, Alanna's crystallized blade was smashed into hundreds of frozen pieces. They scattered onto the ground, and the lady knight watched, in horror, as Ylon's sword tumbled down, slashing from her shoulder to the side of her stomach.

Alanna fell. She clutched her side in agony, rolling away just in time to see Ylon's saber swing down once more. The Lioness heard someone else scream, and the pain seared from within. The Ysandir above her laughed. With one more plunge, Ylon raised his sword and struck for the last time.

The lady knight grasped for a weapon, any weapon. Then she remembered the dagger from within her tunic and reached for it. With the last ounce of her strength, she moved forward and stabbed.

* * *

When George came to, he was looking at cloudy grey skies. Wincing, the baron of Pirate's Swoop attempted to sit up and somehow succeeded. Next to him, Myscha watched the still-unconscious Peldor. "You're up now?"

"Where's Alanna?" George asked, his gaze moving towards the cave's entrance.

"I'd advise that you don't try any funny business," the lord of Tirragen told him without humor. "I've been ordered to stop you."

The former Rogue glared at him. Still, the man meant well, and he sighed. "How did you manage to drag me all the way here?"

"I'm stronger than I look," Myscha smirked. He stood up. "I wonder if he's dead. We left him behind hours ago, and he still hasn't recovered consciousness. Even you came around fairly quickly."

Myscha's foot made contact with the Copper Isle count's stomach. Not even a groan. This brought a sliver of suspicion in George. Didn't Jon tell him that the count possessed the Gift? What if this was that Sorcerer's Sleep that Alanna had mentioned once before?

"I think you might want to get away from him," George told Myscha sharply.

The Tirragen lord shrugged and turned to move out of the way.

A hand shot out and grabbed Myscha's leg. Yellow aura began to surround the lord, and he yelped in surprise. The count was gaining ground, and he dragged Myscha down, heaving him under in order to get up.

George watched, aghast, as Myscha struggled against Peldor. Quickly, the baron searched for his spare knives and found two hidden within his boot. Grim-faced, he carefully approached the agitated count, who was still holding down the stocky Tirragen lord. George knew he had to be careful, in case his aim would hit Myscha. He doubted that Jonathan would appreciate losing another Tirragen, after the fiasco over a year ago. Instead, he bided his time.

"Take...your shot, damn it!" Myscha cried out, who was now losing way to the Gift that was choking the life out of him.

Without hesitation, the baron leapt onto Peldor, grabbing him into a stranglehold. The count clawed at George's arms, but to no avail. The struggle must have dragged on for minutes on end, with no apparent victor. There was no choice in the matter. In one fell swoop, the former Rogue dragged the knife across Peldor's neck. The count's body fell to the ground, and George dropped his dagger, disgusted.

He had done it. He killed one of the gods' Chosen. They could smite him now, but George knew he had no regrets.


	18. Circuition

**Notes - **I've uploaded this chapter and the epilogue together. It's only fitting. And, thank you so much for reading this far! XD**  
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**Disclaimer** - While I do wish that I had a hand in writing up the Tortallan universe, we all know that the ever-fabulous Tamora Pierce was its sole creator. So yeah, I don't own these characters. At all.

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**Chapter 18  
Circuition**

Gods rarely admit their foolishness. In fact, throughout history, you'll find that when a god _does _own up to his mistakes, the world probably implodes in the process. That means that if there had been a time in history where gods apologized, nobody knew about it. How could they? That world was probably long gone by now.

The Divine Realms was still present, so it only meant that Mithros and his Pantheon were as stubborn as they come. It suited Kyprioth well, he supposed, since he wasn't very keen on losing his soon-to-be-reclaimed Kyprish Isles, let alone a world. So he merely stood there, waiting for the congregation of gods to abate into silence.

It didn't take very long. Mythros had raised his arm, his skin glistening like black porcelain glass. He'd set his siblings in their proper place.

There were many matters at hand, now that the threat of the Ysandir had come to an end. Kyprioth himself had gone to check, knowing where his Chosen would be. He had risked slight danger, but what did it matter to him? If the Chosen lost, then the world as they knew it would have ceased to exist anyway. If they'd won, then there was nothing at all to worry about!

The Crooked God had found George Cooper and lord Myscha of Tirragen standing over the body of Count Peldor, who was most obviously dead. His only reply then was a raised eyebrow, but in time he'd come to discuss the situation with the baron of Pirate's Swoop.

"Kyprioth, your report was not given in full," Mithros' booming voice reverberated around the room. "Shakith and Gainel may know everything that has happened, but not all of us are gifted mind-readers. Not even on our best days, brother."

The Trickster shrugged. "I told you all I could surmise from the end result. When I'd arrived, there were five Chosen within the Chaos vents, three of which were completely...er...shall we say, injured almost beyond repair?"

"Which three?"

Kyprioth rolled his eyes. Why was he repeating the obvious? They had transferred all of the Chosen into the healing goddess' domain for recuperation. Slowly, he ticked the status of the Chosen in his fingers. "King Jonathan of Tortall used up much of his energy in order to channel the Jewel of Vitality; he was unconscious when I found him, but in due time he will recover his strength. Sir Alanna the Lioness of Tortall was grievously injured; she'd lost a lot of blood and was immediately rushed to the Goddess' chambers for special healing, I was told her condition was being remedied. Imperial Princess Alexa..."

He'd paused, his face creasing into a frown. Mithros waited for him to continue. "Imperial Princess Alexa of Tusaine could not be wakened; I suspect it was due to the release of Ysandir energy that had been coursing through her veins, and when Ylon and Ylanda died, I was told she had just collapsed from exhaustion. Her status as of now has not been made known to me, though I was assured it will be a positive outcome."

"And what of the other two?" the leader of the gods asked.

"Numair Salmalin of Tyra and former Lord Thom of Tortall were unharmed. A little shaken and exhausted, yes, and had Alanna died on the spot, I believe Thom would have as well. But as you see, he's both alive and well, so we can safely say that neither of them are passing from us today."

"Was that all, then?"

Kyprioth nodded. "That was all."

There was a brief silence. Then, Mithros shook his head. "You've neglected to tell me the status of three more Chosen, those that were not inside the Chaos vents."

The Trickster was hoping he'd be able to spare those three from the report. Perhaps not. His brother knew everything that had happened; he was only getting Kyprioth to display all evidence to the assembly for proper judgment. Only, George Cooper had killed a Chosen...

"Lord Myscha of Tortall was swiftly transported back to his fief in Tirragen, all memory of these events wiped away. Baron George Cooper of Tortall has refused to return until his wife comes back with him, so he is in the company of the Cat, who came back down from the skies after his encounter and temporary incapacitation against Ylira. Count..."

Here he paused again. If only his blasted rogue of a Chosen had found some other way to render Peldor temporary immobility! "Count Peldor of the Copper Isles lost much blood from a cut throat; he was dead when I found him, and declared too far gone for resurrection according to the Black God. He was slain by George Cooper."

There was a faint murmuring of voices amongst his brothers and sisters. This made Kyprioth nervous. He didn't like it when his petty siblings murmured. That meant bad things for people. Mortals, especially.

White-eyed Shakith had approached the throne then, her head dipped low enough so only the Great Mother Goddess and Mithros could hear her words. Kyprioth guessed that she was telling them what the other gods had decided. Once she was done, the Goddess of Seers stepped down.

"Those of us who partook in this dangerous game knew of the consequences that would befall on the Chosen who were not ready for testing," Mithros began, all attention now focused on him. "We have news that three have fallen in the Divine Realms, two by Peldor's hand. This is a sad undertaking, but all three shall be honored for what they used to represent in us, not for what they went through in the attempts to survive here."

"For that, George Cooper shall not face fatal repercussion for the murder of Count Peldor," he continued. Kyprioth let out a silent whoop of relief. Now he had a wager to collect from the Hag for betting against him! He grinned in spite of himself. "Count Peldor, as I am to understand it, had a hand in the murder of Zephyrus Muhassin Tasikhe of Carthak, and had the count survived, his punishment would have been equal to George Cooper's. It is only fair. By the request of Shakith, Thom shall take his place amongst the demi-gods for his services to the Divine Realms, and for his aid against the malicious planning of our sister of Chaos, Uusoae. Those who object this ruling, speak now."

The gods were rarely in dissent once a judgment was made, and this was another one of those times. Kyprioth cleared his throat. The Goddess tilted her head to acknowledge that he could speak. "There is the matter of their memories."

"The royalty will have their memories erased, it will only clutter their minds when they should focus on their countries," the Great Mother Goddess said. "As for my daughter, her husband, and the sorcerer, their destinies take them to a far greater field. We will have need of them once more, and any memory they possess may help them succeed. I will ask that most of what they have seen here will remain in tact."

"So mote it be," Mithros replied.

_That wasn't so bad_, Kyprioth thought.

* * *

Alanna blinked back the sunlight streaming through the window of her room. She groaned and pulled the covers over her head, only realizing that that brought even more pain. The Lioness turned to her side and yelped, remembering her last moments in the dark, cavernous expanse of the Divine Realms...

The appearance of a furnished room greeted her, and the image of a tall, bearded red-head came to view, his purple eyes shining with delight. "You're awake!"

"You're here!" she looked around. "Where is here?"

Thom snorted. "Don't you recognize your own room when you see it?"

The lady knight blushed. "I thought it was too good to be true. Was I just dreaming then?"

Her brother placed a hand on the side of her stomach and she winced. Okay, so it hadn't been a dream. Thom sighed. "For a brief moment there, we thought the Black God was coming to fetch you. You hadn't moved after you let that dagger into Ylon."

"What happened exactly?"

Thom proceeded to tell her. "Well, after you'd gotten injured, Alexa and I'd yelled at you to get out. You were losing so much blood. But like the insane woman that you are—which I should have expected, seeing as I'm your damn twin brother—you went ahead and stabbed him. Remember that dagger Jon had given you for George? Well, we'd retrieved it, of course, after Ylon turned to dust. I'm afraid the dagger's power is lost. All of the weapons designed to destroy the Nameless Ones had reverted back to being just normal weapons after the Ysandir disappeared. As for what happened afterward, well, Numair and I gathered you, Jon, and Alexa together. Thankfully K—one of the gods found us and whisked us away to the chamber of the Great Mother Goddess."

"The...the _Great Mother Goddess' chambers_?" Alanna's eyes widened. "How out of it was I?"

He scratched his head. "You didn't wake up for weeks, if we're going by mortal time. The Goddess herself had to administer her own healing spells to drag you away from the Black God."

"It also helped a bit that your dishonorable husband argued had a few forceful words with the Black God about claiming you," Thom smirked. "You'd be surprised how much the Black God listened to the silly man. Nevermind, I'm sure he'll tell you when you're ready to get up."

"George is here, then?" Alanna made to alight from her bed. Thom hurried to her side to help her. She waved him away and managed on her own.

"They all are," Thom told her. "Well, Numair and Alexa anyway. Jon had already left for Corus. He's going to have to smooth things over with Thayet and the rest of his council, because technically speaking, you've all been gone for over a month now, and there'd been no word sent to the capital at all."

Alanna groaned. What a mess.

"Jon and the imperial princess have no recollection of what happened in the Divine Realms. Jon just thinks some powerful force had witched him, and that he'd gone to Numair for aid. Of course, Alexa knows enough not to ask questions of the memories that were wiped from her, but we've been sworn not to talk about it. And you're not to tell her or Jon either. Or anyone else, for that matter."

The Lioness nodded. "Why didn't they take our memories?"

"Gods have their reasons, I suppose," Thom shrugged, though she had a suspicion that he knew them. After a slight pause, he turned to her. "Listen, I'm not one for goodbyes, and there's always only been one person I owe a proper farewell to anyway. So shall we part ways here, sister?"

"You're not coming back to cause any more trouble, are you?" she eyed him suspiciously.

He laughed. "I think I've paid all my dues in the Divine Realms. It's safe to say that you and I won't meet again in the Mortal Realms."

It had saddened her a bit to hear her brother say that. But she'd already accepted it, in more ways than one. "Besides, I suppose I'll see you back up there, whenever I...you know, snuff it, is that the term?"

"Let's hope it's not for a hundred more years," Thom winked at her. He vanished, leaving the Lioness standing there, faintly smiling at the hidden secret that only she and her twin properly shared.

* * *

Everyone had gathered at the dining hall. George was entertaining Alexa at the end of the table, and Numair stood as Alanna entered the hall. The Lioness shook her head, letting him know that there was no need for formalities in Pirate's Swoop. The sorcerer grinned and sat back down.

When George looked up, his hazel eyes twinkled. "Ah, and here's the lass that prowls the Swoop like she owns it."

"That's because I'm married to the one who actually _does _own the place," Alanna responded. She sat next to him and squeezed his hand. There would be time later for proper "carryin' on," as George always put it.

"How are you holding up, Alexa?" Alanna asked the imperial princess, who was now primly dressed in clean riding gear, braids neatly restyled down her back.

"Besides the curiosity that Baron George and Numair are refusing to quench?" she smiled cheerily, "I am ready to return to my country, if it pleases you. My father must sorely miss me, even if I am just a daughter."

"I'm to accompany her," Numair told them. Somehow Alanna wasn't surprised. "She'd need a proper escort anyhow, and I don't have any pressing engagements. I'm sure Jon can handle Gary and his assembly of nobles when he gets back."

Alanna grimaced. She doubted anyone could actually _handle _Lord Gareth of Naxen. "Numair, proper escorts for females tend to be nuns with the Gift. Why not find a few at the City of the Gods?"

"And travel all the way north for it?" Numair looked aghast. "I can well behave myself! Plus, if you haven't noticed, I'm _pretty good_ with sorcery. And when did you start getting all proper?"

The Lioness sighed. "If you wanted my blessing, all you had to do was ask."

"That's not what I meant, Lioness."

George chuckled. "No dawdlin' at Tusaine, Numair. You still have to return to Jon at some point."

"Yes, yes," Numair sighed. He looked at Alexa and smiled gently. "But first, the princess needs to go home."


	19. Epilogue

**Notes - **It's doooone. Boy, I'm slightly sad it's over. Again, thank youuuuu for reading!**  
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**Disclaimer** - While I do wish that I had a hand in writing up the Tortallan universe, we all know that the ever-fabulous Tamora Pierce was its sole creator. So yeah, I don't own these characters. At all.

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**Epilogue**

"Has Numair arrived back at court, then?" Alanna asked her husband in front of her. She was looking curiously over the baron's shoulder at the stack of reports that were placed on his desk. It had been exactly a month since the stormy events of the Divine Realms, and weeks since they'd last heard from their sorcerer friend.

George looked up and handed the Lioness a letter, neatly written in Numair's elegant scrawl. He chuckled. "Safely at court and rearin' to go back to his tower, it looks like. I'm hopin' he didn't jostle her imperial highness too much on the road."

The baron of Pirate's Swoop was met with a light swat on the forehead. Alanna had rolled up the letter and formed a delicate weapon clenched within her palm. She was glaring at an evenly tanned face. George flashed her his pearly whites, hazel eyes dancing with amusement. "He knows better than to get his heart terribly broken so easily, George."

"Doesn't stop anyone from canoodlin' any," he quickly dodged the Lioness' second swat by grabbing her waist and pulling her down onto his lap. Alanna struggled a bit, surprised at the sudden move. But like the cat that she was, she calmed down as a strong hand stroked the base of her neck. When she was properly fitted into his encircling arms, George laughed again. "Stop worryin' over our sorcerer friend. In due time, he'll find someone."

"I suppose," Alanna said, though she was still frowning. "I'm just hoping things would at least settle down for a bit. I'd rather we not have anything else to do with divine beings for the rest of our lives, too. Didn't we already do enough?"

"Let me get this straight. The Lioness is askin' for peace and quiet?" George raised an eyebrow. "I thought I'd be well under way in visitin' the Black God afore I hear you say that."

The coppery-red haired lady knight ignored the last statement and chose to snuggle underneath the baron's chin instead. She was comfortable in his arms and she settled her head beside his neck, breathing regularly. There was a long, quiet pause. When it seemed like Alanna had fallen asleep, George moved his hand and caressed her face.

"Alanna."

"Yes, laddy-me-love?"

"Happy anniversary."


End file.
